ME2: Providence
by jt-boi
Summary: The continuing story of my canon Shepard, as she finds herself risen from the dead, working for Cerberus, and struggling to reconnect with the only thing that has ever mattered to her. Rated "T" because I have a potty mouth.
1. Prologue: Spectre, Interrupted

A/N: And so begins my foray into Mass Effect 2. I have to admit, for as long as I have been planning this chapter, I have yet to establish a set outline for how things are going to go. As such, I'm not quite sure how this piece will end up. Any feedback will be more than appreciated, and I promise not to let this run wild.

Also, I'm assuming that since most of "my" readers run in the same circle, and therefore you all must be reading "Odyssey" by Bebus and "Glacial Fire" by owelpost. If not, go there now. Seriously.

Lastly, although I'm sure you are mostly FemShep/Liara fans, I would be remiss if I didn't also recommend two other pieces: "Legacy" by alliedforces74 and "Memoirs" by Sharrukin. Both are BroShep/Liara pairings, but definitely worth the read if you're looking for something a little different.

Oh, and one more thing: Dr. Jekyl is KILLING the kmeme right now with "That Which Was Lost". It's ridiculously good.

* * *

**Prologue: Spectre, Interrupted**

_They had barely said hello_

_and it was time_

_To say goodbye_

Shepard was drenched in sweat. The unruly mop of curls on her head were now heavy and thick, and stuck uncomfortably to her forehead. Her lungs burned and her legs ached, but she pressed forward, swallowing ragged gasps of air. She ducked, pivoted on one leg, then launched herself into the air. Just as she reached the apex of her jump, she flicked her wrist, then began to fall backwards.

The basketball sailed over Adams' outstretched hand in a perfect arc, and fell squarely through the hoop with a satisfying swoosh.

Ashley let out a triumphant whoop. "How many times are you gonna let her beat you on that fadaway, Adams?"

Adams grumbled under his breath, but Shepard only managed a thin smile as she jogged over to the other end of the cargo bay, just past the right rear wheel of the Mako that delineated the half court line. Shepard had always wanted a basketball court in the bay; the idea had come to her on a particularly restless evening when she found herself cursing the lack of any decent recreational facilities her ship. She latched onto the notion with a remarkable tenacity, and finally saw her opportunity when the Normandy was in drydock at the Citadel, undergoing several refits after her battle with Sovereign. All it took were a few extra credits from her generous Spectre allowance, deposited into a few key accounts, and the retractable hoops had been installed overnight. Shepard herself had painted the free throw line and three point arc that same night in an excited frenzy. While the bay wasn't exactly large enough to accommodate a full sized court, there was still enough room to allow for a formidable workout, especially against some of the more athletically gifted members of the crew.

Engineer Adams, in particular, had proven to be a rather feisty competitor, and had become an irritating thorn in the commander's side. He was surprisingly lithe and graceful despite his blocky frame, and although Shepard was quicker and had a far superior jump shot, he somehow always managed to match her point for point whenever they played. No matter how casually they began, their weekly shoot-a-rounds always devolved into flat-out brawls that often sucked in other members of the Normandy's crew. Ashley, never one to turn down some friendly violence, had taken to the contests immediately. Some, like poor Private Eli Fredricks, got drafted.

Ashley hunkered down into a defensive squat, tugging impatiently at her oversized shorts and wearing a feral grin as Fredricks slowly began bringing the ball up court. Although the lanky marine had several centimeters on the gunnery chief, he looked for all the world like he wanted nothing do with Ashley, this game, and generally life itself. He soon began looking to pass, glancing furtively at Adams, who kept trying to break free from Shepard's smothering defense. Ashley started pestering him, alternating between swiping at the ball and waving her arms to obstruct his view. The commander gritted her teeth as she and Adams jostled for position under the basket, unapologetically jabbing elbows into each others' sides. Shepard fought to conceal her grimace each time the engineer bumped against the thick black brace clamped around her left knee.

"For fuck's sake, Private! Just because we don't have a shot clock doesn't mean you can just stand there!" Shepard barked.

Finally goaded into action, Fredricks made a move to the basket, Ashley on his heels. She stayed on his hip, preventing the private from driving as forcefully as he wanted to. He pulled up awkwardly and released an off balance shot that somehow wobbled through the air. The ball, unsurprisingly, clanged loudly off the rim. Adams leapt for the rebound, twisting his torso in midair, effectively boxing out the shorter commander. He landed, pumped once to fake the shot, then went up again for an easy lay up. Shepard matched his movements, launching herself at the basket at the same time Adams did. As soon as he released the ball, Shepard slapped it away, sending it sailing into the wall with a resounding slam.

The whistle blew before Shepard even landed. She whirled around to glare at the source of the sound. Tali and Garrus sat on several cargo containers, watching the game in obvious amusement. "Foul!" the quarian announced giddily.

"What the hell for?" Shepard waved her arms in protest.

"Um..." Tali activated her omni tool and began scrolling through the display. "Over-the-back! No, wait - pushing. You definitely pushed him."

"I didn't even touch him!" Shepard turned to Adams. "I didn't push you, did I?"

Adams just shook his head with a wry grin. "Hell, Shepard, you push me every time we play."

"Oh, come on." Shepard looked at Garrus for help, who was sitting silently next to Tali, a gleaming piece of metal between his mandibles. "Seriously?"

Garrus shrugged, then took the whistle out of his mouth. "Don't look at me. I'm just in charge of the whistle."

Shepard threw her hands in the air. "This is bullshit!" she proclaimed.

Tali elbowed Garrus, who dutifully blew the whistle again.

"_Now_ what?!" Shepard was practically screeching.

"Technical foul. For being a bosh'tet," Tali answered. She then glanced over at Garrus, and he nodded in agreement. Shepard was sure the quarian was grinning wildly behind her mask. The commander opened her mouth to complain again, her hands balled tightly into fists, when Ashley swiftly intervened.

"Alright, Tali, let's stop before Skipper gives herself a stroke." The chief placed both hands on Shepard's shoulders and began steering her away from Tali. "Besides, Adams and I need to clean up before we're back on duty."

Tali hopped off the crate excitedly, obviously remembering a previous engagement. "Do you still need help with that core diagnostic, Greg?" She fell into step beside the engineer, and they immediately became enthralled in the details of their upcoming project. Garrus tossed a wave in Shepard's direction and followed Tali and Adams out of the bay, grinning around the whistle still hanging out of his mouth. Fredricks immediately bolted to the door, grateful at being released from the abuse heaped on him by his commanding officer.

"Coming, Skip?" Ashley lingered at the entrance, looking back at Shepard with a curious expression.

Shepard nodded as she went to retrieve the sweatshirt hanging over the armory workbench. "Go ahead. I'll be along in a minute."

The door hissed shut and Shepard was left alone in the bay. She sighed heavily and ran both hands through her damp hair before clasping them on top of her head. She felt pent up and frustrated, and recognized that none of that had to do with the basketball game. Her hands fell to her hips, and she looked down at her leg.

Even though the brace was designed to be lightweight and unobtrusive, Shepard hated wearing it. It seemed to slow her reaction time and made her feel lethargic; although she had been medically cleared to return to full duty weeks ago, she was convinced she was still at least half a step behind her crew while on away missions. And no matter how often or loudly she complained, Chakwas had refused to lift the restriction for at least another month.

Her jaw tensed. Shepard reached down and unclasped the brace, tossing it carelessly on the workbench. She carefully flexed her leg back and forth, testing the joint, then placed her foot on the deck and bounced lightly on her toe. Satisfied, she crouched down into a half-sprinters stance, then took off running to the other side of the court. She barely slowed when she reached the opposite end, instead digging the soles of her shoes into the deck and bending low to brush the tips of her fingers against the painted baseline. Her body shifted forward, and she pushed off from her injured knee to sprint back. She repeated the sequence as she returned to the workbench, digging in her heels and dipping down to touch the ground. This time, when she planted her foot and prepared to surge forward, her leg buckled.

Shepard crumpled to the deck, choking back a cry as searing pain lanced through her leg. She rolled onto her back, breathing sharply through clenched teeth as she brought her leg up and clutched her knee. She laid there for a long moment, grimacing until the pain subsided enough so she could flex her leg again.

The side of her fist slammed into the deck with a sudden ferocity, the impact echoing through the cold, cavernous bay and shaking the metal beneath her. She followed that with an explosive curse, then clasped her hands over her face, and fought against the tremors coursing through her body.

Shepard felt her even before the door to the bay opened. The sensation was like a cool breeze, or a gentle wave, or any number of trite metaphors one could imagine. Shepard had long ago given up describing the feeling; it was just there, and despite the relatively short time she since became aware of its existence, it was now as natural as breathing. She was both amazed and frightened at how much the bond had strengthened in the past two months.

Shepard listened to the door open and close, then heard the sound of her approach. The steps were even, measured, and somehow impossibly delicate even though she was wearing the standard issue combat boots. The steps came to rest next to her, but Shepard kept her eyes closed until she heard her speak.

"You are pushing yourself too hard, Evan."

Shepard looked up into a pair of ocean blue eyes, wide and expressive, and full of concern. Liara smiled slightly, offering her hand. The commander let out a long breath, then allowed herself to be pulled up. Liara grasped Shepard's shoulder as the human gingerly tested her knee before setting her full weight on the leg.

"You know you are supposed to wear that for at least three more weeks," Liara sighed.

Shepard looked away, grumbling under her breath. "And you know that I hate the damn thing."

The asari fell silent, and Shepard shifted under the powerful yet gentle gaze. As with their bond, Liara's uncanny ability to see right through her had only increased in the time they spent together. Liara's hand moved from her shoulder, sliding lightly up Shepard's neck until her thumb brushed against the curve of the human's ear. "This is about more than just your knee," she said quietly.

Shepard exploded, finally putting words to the aching, clawing feeling that had been consuming her. "I'm sick of this shit! The Council, the Alliance - all of it! I'm sick of dealing with idiots with their heads stuck so far up their asses they haven't seen sunshine in decades. Sending us out here to pop tin cans like they're the real problem. It's a waste of our fucking time. Four days we've been in this sector. Four damn days!" Shepard huffed in anger, jaw twitching maniacally, but she didn't move away from Liara's touch. "I'm sick and tired of being fucking ignored, Li." She put her hands on her hips and looked away, eyes dark and flinty as she glared helplessly at a random spot on the wall.

"I know." Liara's voice was soothing, but there was an underlying steeliness that kept her words from dissolving into mere platitudes. "I guarantee that everyone else is just as frustrated as you are. But you cannot give up. They will listen to us, eventually. They have to." She lightly ran her fingertips through the short hairs behind Shepard's ear, then let her hand fall.

Shepard returned her gaze to Liara, and couldn't stop her eyes from raking unabashedly over her lover's body. And what remained of her anger had rather suddenly been funneled towards the pursuit of a different objective. She found herself wondering yet again how Liara managed to make the standard Alliance science tunic look so damn enticing. Her mind, in a colossally adolescent betrayal, immediately pictured that tunic on the floor of her cabin. Liara clearly saw the flash of hunger in Shepard's eyes, as she inclined her chin slightly and arched a brow in a silent challenge. The commander glanced around briefly, ensuring that they were alone, then pulled Liara into a heated kiss.

Shepard suspected she would always be amazed at her reaction to the asari. The delicately sweet taste of her mouth, the noises she made, the feel of their bodies pressed against each other, all combined to form an intoxicating concoction that the human had never experienced before. She felt an almost embarrassing enthusiasm for the young doctor, and often had to check herself to keep her more base desires from running rampant, especially in inappropriate locations.

A whimper of protest slipped past her lips as Liara placed two hands on the human's chest and firmly pushed her away. "You need a shower, Commander." Her eyes flashed playfully.

Shepard blinked, dazed for a moment, before she grinned crookedly. "I thought you liked it when I got all sweaty, Doctor," she replied in a throaty tone, wrapping her arms around the asari's waist.

Liara gave a smile of her own, albeit a decidedly wicked one. She leaned in and brushed her lips against Shepard's ear, earning an involuntary shudder from the commander. "Only when I'm the one making you sweat," she murmured, trailing her hands down Shepard's sides until her fingers were teasing the at waistband of loose-fitting shorts.

And then she ducked and deftly spun out of Shepard's grasp.

The human groaned and staggered forward, stunned by the sudden loss of contact. All she could do was stare, slack-jawed, as Liara turned to leave. "I'll see you tonight, darling," she called over her shoulder, wearing that same infuriating grin and punctuating her exit with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Shepard sent a longing look at the door to the cargo bay, before shaking her head and smiling in spite of herself. She ran a trembling hand through her hair, then shrugged on the heavy N7 sweatshirt. She was overcome by a familiar gnawing feeling in her chest, adding to the warm tension now in her abdomen, and reached into the pocket to pull out her battered N7 cigarette case. However, instead of finding that comforting whiff of tobacco when she opened the case, she was now met with several long, flat sticks of red gum. She shoved two pieces in her mouth, chewed ferociously for a few seconds, then tucked the wad between her cheek and lower gums. She sighed and leaned against the workbench as she waited for the craving to pass, reflecting dryly upon how she was completely and utterly wrapped around a certain asari's slender blue finger.

_{Brace for evasive maneuvers_!}

"What the fu -?"

Shepard's reply was choked off when the deck pitched beneath her as Joker sent the Normandy into a sharp turn. She stumbled, but quickly regained her footing when she felt a wrenching vibration tear through her ship. Panicked screaming came over the comm. Shepard spit out her gum and ran out of the bay.

The knee brace lay forgotten on the bench.

* * *

Liara knew she shouldn't have left Shepard. She just _knew_ it, with the same certainty she could grasp all that was happening in the physical realm. Her rapid breathing, the thundering of her heart, the heavy thud of her boots on the deck even as it was disintegrating beneath her.

She fought her way to the escape pod, through the haze of thick smoke and the cries of her dying crewmates. She swallowed her panic and forced out her voice, ushering people into the escape pod. Just as Shepard wanted her to.

It wasn't right. She shouldn't be here. She should be with Shepard, at her side, hauling that smartass, uncooperative pilot out of his seat and into the nearest pod. Not down here as the commander recklessly ran towards more danger, leaving her to watch as their world burned before her eyes.

Another blast ripped through the ship, and Liara gripped the edge of the escape pod's hatch to steady herself. She gestured frantically at a crewman running towards the hatch, explosions on either side of her lighting up the young woman's face. Liara could see the terror reflected in the human's eyes, mirroring a look that had been on her own face so many times. Just as she was about to reach the hatch, a control console burst outward, spewing forth flame and molten metal right at the crewman. The force of the blast sent her flying through the air, and her head struck the bulkhead at a sickeningly perfect angle. There was a loud crunch, and the body slowly slid down the wall, coming to rest at Liara's feet.

Monica Negulesco, 1st Lieutenant, one of the CIC officers. Recently promoted, assigned to the Normandy after the battle at the Citadel. Liara recalled the pleasant lunch she had shared with Negulesco a few days prior, and how the human had crackled with enthusiasm at the opportunity to serve under The Great Commander Shepard. How she also seemed equally giddy to be speaking with the quiet, unassuming scientist that no one would believe held sway over the galaxy's newest hero. And at the end of the meal, when Negulesco had pulled a small holo out of her pocket and showed Liara the image of a stunning asari, beaming at the camera, and shyly explained that in six months she would be a father.

And how later that evening, Liara had curled up next to Shepard and dreamt of a child with dark, stormy eyes.

"Liara! Come on!"

Ashley stood just inside the hatch, waving at her desperately. Liara stepped inside the pod, and was immediately grasped by the insistent gunnery chief and shoved towards the nearest seat. She sat down heavily, and barely had time to strap on her restraints before Ashley slapped the launch controls, shooting the pod into the void

There was one small viewport in the pod, and Liara watched as the assembled crewman all craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the Normandy. Instead of mimicking their movements, however, she remained deathly still and focused instead on the bond she shared with the ship's commander. She reached out, focusing her energy so intensely her eyes nearly rolled black, until she finally felt Shepard. The connection was there, albeit a tentative one; more like a single strand of thread pulled dangerously taunt. Liara poured all she had into the tenuous link, desperately trying to strengthen it, even as it started slowly slipping away.

And then the thread snapped.

Liara lunged forward in her seat, straining against the straps of the restraints holding her down. Her stomach lurched violently, and she wrenched off her helmet, taking in huge gulps of air to stave off the rush of nausea overwhelming her. She buried her face in her hands as her entire body began trembling.

She felt a gentle weight on her shoulder, and looked up into Ashley's face. The human woman's brow furrowed, wordlessly asking a silent question that no one in the small pod would dare voice. All Liara could do was shake her head and fight against the tears that began stinging her eyes.


	2. He That Believeth In Me

**Chapter 1: He That Believeth In Me**

_I've been traveling on this road too long_

_Just trying to find my way back home_

_The old me is dead and gone_

Shepard sat on the edge of the weight bench, elbows resting as her knees, and watched the heavy bag lazily swing back and forth. Her shoulders and arms burned from the workout, but she welcomed the pain. Although her limbs were still slightly rubbery, she knew she was rapidly regaining her strength. The speed in which she was returning to full health was as frightening as it was astonishing; in the mere day since she had awoken she felt faster and sharper, like her senses were being honed to a clarity she had never experienced before.

Soon, it would be like she had never died at all.

The commander sighed and took a drink from the canister sitting next to her, grimacing as she choked down the heavy protein mixture. It was nearly impossible for her to process what had occurred. One moment she had been floating helplessly above Alchera, clutching at the back of her hard suit; the next, she was stretched out on a slab, a sharp voice barking at her over a ship's intercom. Shepard had somehow managed to fight through the ensuing chaos, still able to dispatch mechs even though she could barely raise a pistol, all the while trying to wrap her head around the fact that two years had passed since her last memory. And she had been at the hands of Cerberus.

Project Lazarus. Shepard was familiar with the source of the designation, and although the title was fairly appropriate, she disagreed with its use. Lazarus was the subject of a rather popular story from Earth's Christian Bible, in which he was miraculously brought back from the dead by the man who followers of the religion believed was the Messiah. The tale was also contained some of the more famous lines of the entire text.

_I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. _

Shepard had never believed. Her mother had, though, with her all heart, but she certainly didn't come back from the dead. Shepard's resurrection could not be attributed to any faith; it was because of man and machine. Because of the implants that regulated her heartbeat, of the electrodes used to stimulate her nervous system, of the synthetic machinery that were now her arms and legs. She lightly touched the glowing scars on her cheek, then idly reached back to scratch at the fresh bioamp protruding from just behind her right ear. Shepard wondered if she could even consider herself human anymore.

What had she done to deserve a second chance? Certainly there were others far more worthy of the billions of credits invested, those who could have a far greater impact on the galaxy than her. Those that actually had faith in something.

Shepard's chest constricted painfully as another thought passed through her mind. She _had _believed in something once, and not too long ago. She had seen beauty and light, and had been reminded that there were good things in the universe worth fighting for. Although, with each passing moment, she couldn't shake the terrible feeling that was now lost.

Two years was a long time. Even for an asari.

The sharp crack of expensive heels against the deck tore Shepard from her thoughts, and announced the impending arrival of only one person. Shepard watched as Miranda Lawson stepped imperiously into the gym, wearing the same look of perpetual annoyance she had seen ever since they met. The commander pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginnings of a dull headache.

"Shepard. Here you are." The operative stood in front of the weight bench, crossed her arms, and began tapping her foot impatiently. "I thought you were to remain in your quarters."

Shepard shrugged, then took another slug form the canister. "I got bored."

It wasn't necessarily a lie. She had been shown to the small but comfortable sleeping quarters and strongly encouraged to get some rest, as her newly awakened body was not yet accustomed to battle, and she had no doubt overtaxed her systems during the fight off the science vessel. She had been far too anxious to sleep, however, torn by thoughts of her crew as well as the realization she was now under Cerberus control. Shepard then promptly snuck out to explore the station. After several failed attempts to access the local terminals (which served as a sharp reminder of her lackluster hacking skills), she had stumbled across the gym, as well as an assortment of athletic clothing in a nearby supply closet. With nothing better to do, she had quickly changed and set about punishing the heavy bag.

"I've been trying to locate you for nearly an hour," Miranda huffed. "The Illusive Man will see you now."

Shepard tensed. Part of her was glad that she would be speaking to someone who could finally give her some answers. However, the other part was none too pleased about being beckoned like some fucking pet. If Miranda, this "Illusive Man", or anyone else in Cerberus expected her to bend to their will out of sheer gratitude, they would be sorely mistaken.

The commander's hands tightened around the canister. "'And when thus he had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth,'" she mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?" Miranda frowned.

"Nothing." Shepard shot the operative a fierce glare and then stood up. "Let's go."

She followed Miranda out of the gym, down a narrow hallway, and was beckoned to enter what appeared to be a small comm room. Shepard gave Miranda a long look before slowly easing through the entrance alone. She took two steps and the room suddenly lit up, and Shepard realized she was standing on the pad of a quantum entanglement communicator. She glanced around, then her eyes turned to the image being displayed before her.

The human male sat in a large, comfortable chair in front of what appeared to be a galaxy map display. His eyes were unnaturally bright; so much so that he had to have some form of ocular implants. The metallic eyes roved over Shepard for a long moment before he leaned back in his chair. He crossed his legs, then took a drink of what was probably very expensive scotch, then a drag off a probably very expensive cigarette.

"Shepard," he said by way of greeting, reaching over his chair to tap the ash off his smoke.

Shepard crossed her arms. "So you're the Illusive Man. I suppose it would be too much to ask to meet in person."

The Illusive Man smiled thinly, but didn't respond to Shepard's jab. "How are you feeling?"

"Cut the bullshit," Shepard snapped. "What the fuck do you want with me?"

He nodded, almost thoughtfully, as if he had expected that reaction. "We brought you back because we need you. Humanity is up against the greatest threat of our brief existence."

"The Reapers," Shepard said. "What's that got to do with Cerberus?"

The Illusive Man stood and began pacing. "Unlike those who remain terribly short-sighted, Cerberus believed what you said about the Reaper threat. We're at war. No one wants to admit it, but humanity is under attack. While you were under, entire human colonies have been disappearing. We believe it's someone aiding the Reapers, just as Saren and the geth aided Sovereign. You've seen it yourself."

Shepard cocked her head slightly. This was the first time she had heard anyone outside of her immediate crew or Anderson openly acknowledge what Sovereign truly was. After months of being ignored and rudely brushed off by the council - and most of her commanding officers - the brief moment of recognition felt welcome.

But it also passed just as quickly. "Why would the Reapers only target a few human colonies?" She kept her gaze level and cold, even though her mouth had begun to water at the sight of his cigarette.

"Nearly hundreds of thousands of colonists have vanished. I'd say that's more than just a few. Nobody's paying attention because it's random and the attacks occur in remote locations."

The commander shifted her weight slightly, but remained silent. The Illusive Man clearly took that as a sign to continue.

"I don't know why they've suddenly targeted humanity, but the fact remains that they have. We need you to find out who exactly is behind these abductions and their connection to the Reapers. We brought you back because no one else can do what you do. You know what the Reapers are capable of, but you've also bested them. We need to continue the fight."

He sat down and leaned far back into his chair, and took a long, slow drag off the cigarette. Clearly, the Illusive Man was aware of his skills as a salesman, and knew precisely when to stop speaking. Shepard's jaw twitched.

"What proof do you have?"

"Not much, I'm afraid, but the patterns are there, buried in the data. We need you to go to Freedom's Progress, the site of the - "

"You really think it's going to be that easy?" Shepard's voice took a on gravelly, menacing edge. "You think you can just feed me some bullshit about the Reapers attacking human colonies, and expect me to just fall in line with a fucking smile on my face?" She felt the scars on her cheeks begin to burn as her anger rose. "I watched my entire unit die on Akuze, you son of a bitch. I will _never_ work for Cerberus."

The Illusive Man nodded again, an annoyingly paternalistic gesture that did nothing to calm Shepard's ire. "Akuze was unfortunate, Shepard, and I apologize for the - "

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to the family of Aaron Toombs." Shepard waved a hand dismissively and turned to leave. "Go fuck yourself. I'm not interested."

"The Reapers _are _coming, Shepard, and you know as well as I do that no one is prepared for their arrival," he called after her. "And unless we do something, everything you know and love will be destroyed...and everyone."

Shepard took two steps, the stopped. His last words hung the air deliberately, and there was no doubt in Shepard's mind as to what he was referring. Although her and Liara's relationship hadn't necessarily been a secret, they had tried to remain discrete. Apparently, they had not been discrete enough. And now the Illusive Man had leverage.

But he was also right. The Reapers threatened the entire galaxy, not just humanity, and every sentient being would be at risk when they returned. Including Liara.

"Go to Freedom's Progress, Shepard. See for yourself. Find out who is behind the abductions." The Illusive Man's voice was softer now, almost soothing. "If you decide to join us, you will have all the resources you could possibly want to fight the Reapers."

Shepard didn't reply. She stood with her back to the projection for a long moment, then walked out without saying a word. She headed back down the hallway and emerged into a bright control room, where Miranda and Jacob were both studiously hunched over their workstations. The operatives looked up at Shepard's arrival, but the commander didn't acknowledge their expectant faces until she had crossed the room and reached the far exit.

"Set a course for Freedom's Progress," she said quietly, then ducked out the door. A few seconds later, she poked her head back into the room.

"And somebody get me a damn cigarette!"

* * *

**The Presidium**

**August 2183**

The luxury apartment is, without a doubt, the nicest place Shepard's ever lived, but she can't settle in. The place is too big, the furniture too comfortable, and she's far too close to the Council for her liking. She knows that's why they set her up here, in the only patch of the Presidium that escaped damage - so a veritable army of C-Sec officers can keep tabs on her while the Council conducts inquiry upon inquiry about the events of a few weeks ago. Shepard wishes they would just get on with it. She knows they're going to whitewash the whole thing; blame it all on Saren and Benezia and a few reprogrammed geth. Reassure the masses that there are no such things as "Reapers", no galaxy-wide threats, and admit that maybe the first human Spectre is just a little off her rocker.

She scowls. If they're going to call her crazy, the least they can do is say it to her face.

It's late now, far later than Shepard knew she should be awake. She props her aching leg up on the coffee table, slouches further down into the couch, and idly flips through the channels on the oversized vid screen. Today was a particularly brutal day, and Shepard's entire body still throbs from the aftershocks of Chakwas's morning rehab session. But despite the ache and utter exhaustion, she can't sleep. She hasn't slept in weeks, actually, beset by the images of the beacon and the new nightmares of a future yet to come. She can't remember the last time she got more than a few hours a night. Wait, that's not true - the last time she'd slept without any of those dreams was...

Shepard sighs heavily and rubs her face. She ignores the ache that somehow migrates north and settles in her chest. She knows why Liara had to leave but it doesn't make the pain of her absence any easier to bear. Shepard can still remember that moment, even through the cloud of painkillers, when Liara had walked into the Normandy's medbay and said she was to return to Thessia. Not only had the matriarchs called on her to answer immediately for both her and Benezia's actions in the fight against Saren, but she was also now forced to defend her mother's vast estate from the onslaught of distant aunts and nieces and cousins, all looking to benefit from the near collapse of the T'Soni house. Shepard had just nodded and said of course Liara should go, that they would keep in touch, and not to worry.

It was the fastest decision the matriarchs had made in centuries, and Shepard has barely spoken to Liara since.

But at least Garrus is there, still on the Citadel. Tali, too, but most of other the crew are on leave, or completely gone. Joker's on Tiptree, Ashley's on Earth. Wrex went back to Tuchanka as soon as he could. Now Shepard spends most of her time with the turian and the quarian, usually drinking, complaining about the Council, and watching old vids in Shepard's apartment - although Tali seems to leave a majority of the drinking and bitching to Shepard and Garrus. They somehow form a neat little trio, each member equal parts bored and apprehensive as they contemplate their next steps. Shepard waits on the Council and the fallout from its report. Garrus is deciding whether to accept C-Sec's job offer or apply for Spectre candidacy. Tali's mind changes daily about returning to the Migrant Fleet. But hanging over any decision is the knowledge that, no matter what they do now, something terrible is just over the horizon.

Shepard is truly grateful for their companionship. even if it's a little unexpected. Both Garrus and Tali exercise a level of devotion to her that goes beyond mere command loyalty, which Shepard isn't used to - daily messages asking about her rehab sessions, unannounced visits, regular supply deliveries that will run until Shepard is more mobile. And even though Shepard has never breathed a word about what happened that night before Ilos, they both continue to drop subtle hints about Liara. Shepard always waves them off, tells them that Liara is busy and she'll call when she can, even as she can't stop checking her own omni tool for messages at least a dozen times during whatever vid they're watching.

Maybe she'll just fucking go there. Thessia's not that far away. She's been making progress in rehab, and Chakwas could clear her for travel in another couple of days. But what the hell would she do when she got there? Just show up with an armful of flowers? Music? Chocolates? Do asari even eat chocolate? She soon dismisses the idea.

It takes a spectacular amount of nerve to go to the home of the woman you killed looking to romance her daughter.

There's a sudden chime at the door, and Shepard rolls her eyes before she starts heaving herself off the couch. At this hour, it could only be Garrus. He had received a call from his father earlier that evening, and promptly went out to drink off the effects of that conversation. Shepard had declined the invitation, as the bar is too far away for her to get to easily, but said she would be up if he wanted to come by. But now she's beginning to regret the suggestion. She's really in no mood for processing the turian's complicated familial relationships, and she hopes that he'll just want to watch a vid. If she's lucky, he'll pass out on the couch during the opening scene of 'Fleet and Flotilla' and they can get breakfast in the morning.

The chime sounds again, and Shepard yells that she's coming. Damn, Garrus is an annoying drunk. She's sat for too long; now her entire body is stiff and her knee is damned near locked up again. She swallows her frustration as she reaches for the lone crutch sitting beside her. After a few awkward moments, she finally manages to stand and maneuver it beneath her. She grumbles to herself as she hobbles to the door.

Any smart ass comments about inebriated turians dies on her lips when she sees who is at the door. Liara is nervously shifting her weight back and forth and clutching the handle of her bag so tightly her hands are almost white. She immediately begins stammering an apology, and explains how she had just impulsively took the last transport from Thessia and that she would have called but she spoke to Garrus that night and he convinced her to make it a surprise but she can just get a room elsewhere if that would be easier and she knows that it's late so if Shepard is tired that's completely fine and she doesn't want to impose, so...

Shepard barely hears a word of it, because she is positive she's dreaming. Or drunk and hallucinating. But then she reaches out and brushes Liara's hand and she knows it's real.

Liara steps into the apartment and the bag drops to the floor with a thud. Their mouths collide without hesitation, and Shepard wonders how she's even made it this long without her. And, thank God, she can tell that Liara feels the same way. They recklessly grab and pull and clutch at each other until Shepard tries to step towards the bedroom and loses her balance. They tumble to the floor, Liara lands on top, and Shepard hisses in pain. She starts apologizing again, but Shepard cuts her off with another kiss. Shepard wraps her arms tightly around the asari, unwilling to let go even though it feels like her re-inflated lung is on the verge of collapsing again. She pulls away enough to utter only one word.

Stay.

Liara smiles and lightly brushes her thumb over the human's lips. Her eyes are sparkling. Shepard is convinced she's never seen anything more beautiful.

Only if we use the bed this time, darling.


	3. I Cover The Waterfront

**A/N: **Sorry for the brief chapter; I'm still working through the beginning (and ending) of this piece, and the outlines of the next few installments are still somewhat hazy. But I promise it will pick up soon!

Also, just some clarification: the flashback scenes were originally going to be part of a story I had planned to bridge ME1 and ME2 that explored more of Liara and Shepard's relationship, as well as some particulars from Shepard's past. I ultimately decided not to pursue that, but I still wanted to include some scenes in this work. And as for the tense change, well...I got adventurous. And bored. And maybe a little drunk.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Chapter 2: I Cover The Waterfront**

_Ten days of perfect tunes_

_The colors red and blue_

_We had a promise made_

_We were in love_

* * *

The view from the office windows was nothing short of spectacular, but she had long ago stopped seeing it. The headquarters of LTS Consultants, Inc. was high enough up so that nearly the entire vista of Nos Astra was spread out before her. The glittering landscape had initially been one of the deciding factors in choosing this location, but the novelty had soon worn off. As her business became more and more successful, she found she had less time to enjoy the sights from her office, and the large windows had actually made her an easy target for several clumsy assassination attempts. Now, they remained polarized at all hours and sealed with top of the line kinetic barriers, blocking any attempts to look into the office.

She took a sip from the heavy glass in her hand, and winced slightly at the burn of the whiskey in her throat. Her office lights were dimmed in the late hour, and she could see her own reflection in the tinted windows. She considered her own image staring back at her. In her more introspective moments - of which she allowed few - she could readily acknowledge the changes that had occurred in the past two years. Her features had become more angular; there was a sharpness to her cheeks and jaw that hadn't existed before. The soft curves of her youth were also gone, replaced instead by the lean, taunt muscle that resulted from a punishing exercise regimen. But, perhaps more noticeably, was a new coldness in her gaze. The deep ocean blue of her eyes was now frozen over, resembling glaciers instead. Even at the age of 108, it appeared that all vestiges of her maidenhood were already gone. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she was as unrecognizable to others as she was to herself.

She sighed, and drank again. The only sound in her office was the clink of the lone ice cube in her glass. She looked down, eyes roving over the trading floor. The markets had all closed hours ago, and the only activity was the occasional individual cutting across the marketplace to reach the back entrance of Eternity. She knew the club wouldn't be very busy tonight, and she briefly entertained the notion of heading down there, but then just as quickly decided against it.

She hated this time of day. Her staff had all left for the evening, and as usual, she was the alone in the office. It was too late to get any meaning work accomplished, and but still too early to leave. If she went home now, it would be hours before she got to bed. She had quickly recognized the pattern; alone in her apartment, it would be far too easy to slip into melancholia. Too easy to lose hours staring blankly at a damaged piece of armor, steadily sipping whiskey until the bottle was nearly gone. Too easy to collapse into bed and dream of being held by a pair of strong, warm arms. Too easy to lose an entire morning to both a hangover and bitter heartache when she ultimately woke up alone.

No. She had lost months to such behavior, shackled to pain and grief. Now she just simply refused. Her work, her mission, was far too important. She would at least review several reports before she left, then stop at the gym before returning home. Then, only after she had exhausted herself, she could fall into a deep, dreamless sleep and continue on the next day...

A sharp chirp interrupted her thoughts, and she turned towards her desk. A blinking light on her console indicated the incoming message was encrypted in a code used for only one kind of update. Her eyes swept over workspace, and her gaze lingered for a moment on several items on the desktop. The framed dogtags were misshapen and deformed, but they displayed themselves proudly, and still gleamed despite the damaged they had endured. Next to them was a small package that had just arrived from Earth, excessively wrapped in the thick layers no doubt intended to protect from the extreme stress of shipping all the way to Illium. She hadn't quite bring herself to open it yet.

Shaking her head slightly, as if to break herself from a trace, she lifted a graceful finger to answer the call, then returned to the window.

"Yes?" The transmission was audio only. The voice at the other end was Nyala, a matron who had quickly become her most trusted agent. And as such, was the only person she had given this particular assignment.

"Doctor, it has been confirmed. Commander Shepard is alive."

Her shoulders sagged forward as she let out a long breath. She closed her eyes.

"Visual?"

"Yes, Shepard and Operative Lawson were seen on the Citadel. Shepard's current status with the Alliance appears in flux; my sources cannot confirm yet if she has been reinstated. She does retain her Spectre status, however, even though it appears she is working with Cerberus." Nyala's flat, mechanical tone suddenly softened. "She looks...well, Doctor."

She straightened and opened her eyes. She had never spoken in depth about her interest in Shepard, but Nyala, while subtle, was also remarkably perceptive. It was a testament to her trust and respect for the matron that she let the remark pass without comment.

"Did you make contact with Lawson?" Her reply was stoic and devoid of any emotion.

"Yes. She sends her apologies for not informing you sooner, but apparently there were some...control issues with the commander that took precedence."

She allowed herself a small smile at that, but it was brief. "I'm sure." She crossed one arm over her chest and used it to prop up her elbow, still sipping from her whiskey. "And what of the status of my request?"

"Operative Lawson is familiar with who you seek. She has agreed to forward what information she has on the Observer. You may expect a transmission from her within the next solar day," Nyala replied crisply.

She tensed. That was too easy. "What does she want in return?"

"Nothing." Nyala's tone betrayed her surprise as well. "Lawson said that it was a gesture of good faith, based on past dealings. She did not care to elaborate further."

"Very well." She unfolded her arm and activated her omni tool, making a few quick swipes over the interface. "Thank you, Nyala. You have been most helpful."

For all her decorum, Nyala's gasp was still audible over the connection. "Doctor, you are far too generous, I can - "

"Take it, Nyala." She waved a hand dismissively, as if the matron had been standing before her. Between the success of the information brokerage and her mother's considerable estate, she had long ago stopped counting the zeros on such transfers, especially when the credits were going to her field staff. "Consider it a donation to your daughter's educational fund. University tuition is not cheap these days, as I am told."

"Thank you, Doctor," Nyala responded. "I am sure I will hear from you soon."

"Of course." She ended the transmission without another word.

The office was plunged back into silence. She looked down and watched the ice melt in her glass.

* * *

**The Presidium **

**August 2183**

Liara stretches languidly, the sheets twisting around her torso and legs. The warm light on her face tells her its late morning, and she smiles, keeping her eyes closed. The time doesn't matter, and she revels in that fact. Never before has she been free from a schedule, whether it has been the demands of her mother's position, or her university requirements, or even her brief foray into military life onboard the Normandy. She's barely left the bed since she arrived at the apartment days ago, and it feels decadent and indulgent and utterly wonderful.

She rolls over, curling into a ball on her side, and nestles deeper into the warm spot left by Shepard. The human is moving about the kitchen, and it's clear that she's been up for some time. Despite that, Liara still feels the heat radiating from the bed. Humans apparently have a higher core body temperature than asari, another discovery that she adds to the list of items that fascinate her about Shepard. She's been meaning to do some additional research into the evolutionary biology of humans, to compare and contrast that to asari, but she keeps getting distracted.

Liara hears the banging and clatter of pans and utensils, the opening and closing of the refrigeration unit, then the pop and hiss of food on the stove. Shepard has proven to be fairly competent in the kitchen, at least when it comes to breakfast, and insists on cooking for Liara every morning. Liara finds it particularly endearing since Shepard seems unable to make anything more complex than eggs and toast, but the commander remains undaunted and seems determined to learn the precise yolk consistency that Liara prefers.

Soon she hears the sound of music drifting from the kitchen, and Liara's smile broadens. She hasn't yet discovered why Shepard hates silence so much - another research project, perhaps - but doesn't mind that there is always music playing in the background. It's never overpowering, just enough to fill the apartment and drive out the quiet.

Most of the time it is a human song Liara is not familiar with. Shepard's tastes are surprisingly eclectic; she runs the gamut from slow, longing melodies to rousing ballads to up-tempo pieces, the lyrics of most Liara finds patently absurd. (Shepard's been stuck on that genre for about a day or so now, and although Liara has no idea how rudimentary arithmetic and spelling lessons were supposed to relate to human mating rituals, she is entertained nonetheless.) This time, though, the song is decidedly melancholy, with a slow, haunting melody that Liara is surprised to recognize - it is the song playing when she and Shepard had their first tentative conversation after her rescue on Therum. And, as before, Shepard is again singing along to the refrain. Her voice is low and soft, as if she doesn't want Liara to hear.

_Leave me paralyzed, love._

_Leave me hypnotized, love._

Shepard remains shy about this particular character trait, even though Liara has praised the human's voice on more than one occasion. Liara can see why, although she doesn't quite understand. There's an edge, a restraint to Shepard that is constantly present, and she is intensely private. Her instinct is to rebuff any attempt to reveal herself, as though any insight into her personality automatically registers as a vulnerability. But Liara continues to poke and prod, with varying degrees of success, and Shepard so far has tolerated her playful inquisitiveness. And she can be just as stubborn as the famously bullheaded commander.

She remembers her second (or was it third?) night in the apartment, and how she caught the human singing under her breath as she exited the shower. Later, as they lay in bed, Liara jokingly refers to Shepard as an _aife_, a songbird native to the province on Thessia where she grew up. The Hero of the Citadel blanches at the nickname, her face twisting into a scowl that Liara immediately determines is more adorable than threatening. And so she does it again. And again. And again, until Shepard finally yanks the asari's pillow away from her and boffs her in the head with it. An all out brawl nearly ensues, stopped only by the extent of Shepard's all-too-fresh injuries. Somehow, Shepard manages to roll on top of her, and Liara lets the human pin her arms above her head, even though she could easily overpower her with her biotics. A rush of warmth fills her as she thinks of that moment: Shepard's eyes gleaming in the artificial moonlight, the genuine smile on her face, and how Liara feels the human's heartbeat quicken just before their lips meet.

A weight on the edge of the bed brings her back to the present. Liara rolls over to see Shepard smiling down at her. She reaches up to lightly touch the colorful bruising dappling the human's cheek. Shepard captures her hand and brushes her lips across her fingertips, before leaning over and kissing her. Liara deepens the kiss, twists her other hand through the chain of Shepard's dog tags and tries to pull the human on top of her. Shepard braces herself and backs away with a gentle laugh, and murmurs that there's plenty of time for that _after_ breakfast. Liara laughs as well, admitting temporary defeat, and loosens her grip. The tags clink lightly as Shepard sits back up. Liara still hears the song echoing in the background.

_Leave me paralyzed, love._

_Leave me hypnotized, love._


	4. Rip Van Winkle

**A/N: **Hey all - sorry for my extended absence. I was working a ridiculous amount of hours that just left me no time to update. Also, I have been going through some personal issues, and I haven't decided yet if writing this series is cathartic or making things worse. For now, let's go with cathartic.

Thanks again to all who tolerate my sporadic updating. As penance, I offer two chapters!

Best,

-jt-

* * *

**Chapter 3: Rip Van Winkle **

_This ship is taking me far away _

_Far away from the memories_

_Of the people who care if I live or die_

* * *

Miranda charged through the Shin Akiba district of Zakera Ward, plowing into a group of volus merchants and sending them spinning away like bowling balls, ignoring the protests and wheezed complaints thrown in her direction. Miranda's annoyance was growing with each step, and was being compounded by her annoyance at being annoyed. She had always prided herself on being calm and collected; she had worked hard to establish such a reputation, and truly, she wouldn't be in charge of Cerberus's most expensive project if she hadn't proven herself time and again in the most stressful of situations. But now, in spite of everything she had proudly accomplished, that very expensive project was currently driving her up the damn wall.

It had been four hours since they docked at the Citadel, exactly three hours and forty five seconds since Shepard had took off without a word, and Miranda had wasted precisely an hour and thirty minutes of her day trying to find the erstwhile commander. She knew Shepard had received a message from Anderson, and was most likely meeting with both him and the Council, but when she failed to return to the Normandy at a reasonable time, Miranda had set off on a fruitless search. Finally, after pinging the commander's omni tool at least dozen times, Shepard had responded, sending a terse message that she was in Zakera's commercial zone. Miranda forced her jaw to unclench. Although Shepard was clearly in charge of the ship and crew, it was still her duty to ensure they remained on task, and her schedule did not allow for extended forays into shopping districts.

Miranda found Shepard in a random giftshop that appeared to carry all manner of tacky Citadel- related items. The commander held several bags in one hand while she idly flipped through a clearance rack of t-shirts. On top of head sat a cap emblazoned with the gold and silver logo of the Nos Astra Legionnaires. Shepard's head snapped up at Miranda's approach, and she fixed the operative with an almost accusatory glare.

"What the hell, Lawson?" Shepard growled and yanked a shirt off the rack. "Why didn't you tell me they won the Cup?"

Miranda looked down at the shirt Shepard was holding. It was a mass-produced shirt with a loud graphic splashed across the front, commemorating the Legionnaires' championship season in 2184. The entire rack was filled with similar shirts, and were obviously being clearanced out due to their age. Miranda quickly did the math. That match had occurred almost a year and a half ago.

A year and a half ago, she still had no idea if Project Lazerus would even be successful.

"I didn't realize you were a fan," she replied crisply.

Shepard grumbled and hung the shirt back up. "First time in two centuries they win the championship, and I had to be fucking dead for it."

Miranda felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the woman in front of her. She was nothing but proud of the work she had accomplished; Shepard was a biological marvel, and she had quite literally done the impossible. And even more importantly, she had truly _believed _in what she was doing. The galaxy needed Shepard, whether the commander liked it or not, and Miranda had no doubts she would meet the Reaper threat head on. However, she had to admit there hadn't been much time to consider what it would be like for someone to lose two whole years of their life.

"We should get going, Commander. We have several more dossiers to review and I - "

Shepard cut her off with a wave. "Yeah, yeah. I just needed to get some supplies."

"What supplies?" Miranda frowned and glanced into Shepard's bags. She noticed two packages of plain black shirts in one, along with what appeared to be a dark leather jacket. In the other, she saw several bottles of liquor. "Shepard, you don't need any of this. You have a full wardrobe onboard the Normandy. And a fully stocked bar."

Shepard jerked the bags away from Miranda's prying eyes. "If you think I'm wearing anything with that damned Cerberus logo on it, you're sorely mistaken," she said, her voice a low growl. She glared at Miranda until the operative sighed and took a step back. Satisfied, Shepard returned to her browsing. "And the booze isn't for me."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Fine," she acquiesced. "But you - "

She was cut off again, this time by a yelp of surprise. Shepard yanked another shirt off the rack and held it up to Miranda's face. This time, the offending garment was a printed advertisement for a vid, with a large picture of a human woman, framed by a turian, an asari, and a krogan. Behind the images was an outline of the Citadel. "What the hell is this?" she demanded.

Miranda rubbed a hand across her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. This was going to be more difficult than she anticipated. She mentally made a note to give Shepard a more comprehensive briefing when they arrived back on the ship.

"That," she explained, "is the poster for the movie 'Citadel.' A human filmmaker attempted to dramatize your involvement in the Eden Prime War. I heard it wasn't very good, and I believe it went straight to download."

Shepard scowled at the shirt, seeming to focus most of her ire on the voluptuous human actress. Miranda had to admit that any resemblance between the actress and the first human Spectre was few and far between. "Well, obviously the casting was terrible. I can't believe they made me a blond," the commander remarked. A thoughtful look suddenly crossed her face, and she looked up. "Hey, did I get any money from this? They used my likeness, after all...or a really shitty version of it at least."

Miranda began massaging her temples. "I really don't know, Shepard. You'll have to check with your estate."

"My estate?"

"Yes, your estate." Miranda resisted the urge to throw her hands in the air. "Surely there was someone managing your affairs. Even if you didn't have any next of kin, the Alliance requires you to designate a beneficiary in case of your death."

Shepard's eyes flashed brightly, the irises suddenly blazing a deep red, and Miranda realized they had veered into delicate territory. She had tried to deflect Shepard's questions on this subject as best she could, but the commander was persistent, and Miranda was sure she would tire of the non-answers she was receiving. She watched as Shepard carefully replaced the shirt and waited for the inevitable, wondering if perhaps she had misjudged this situation as well.

"I know you know where she is," Shepard said quietly, still perusing the rack. She didn't look up as she spoke. "And eventually I will find out why you're keeping that from me." It wasn't spoken as a threat, but rather a statement of fact.

Miranda sighed. "Believe want you want, but I gave you all the information we had."

"And all that lead to was a bunch of goddamn funeral vids and tabloid articles," Shepard responded, jaw twitching. "It was all bullshit, and you know it."

Miranda eyed the commander critically, and paused a moment before replying. For the sake of their mission, she decided she needed to use a different tactic. "Commander, did it ever occur to you that Doctor T'Soni may not _want_ to be found?"

Shepard looked up and her eyes flashed again. She looked as if she was about to speak but decided against it, and Miranda knew her words had struck home. Miranda coolly stared back at the commander, meeting the deadly glare without expression, despite how unnerving those ocular implants were.

The commander's omni tool beeped, and she looked down to retrieve the incoming message. Miranda let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding in. The moment had passed.

"Good, the ship's ready. Let's go." Shepard grabbed a handful of the Legionnaires championship shirts and walked up to the counter.

"What do you mean, it's 'ready?'" Miranda asked suspiciously.

"I put Joker in charge of getting the Normandy a new paint job," Shepard explained, as she nodded cordially at the asari manning the checkout terminal. She dumped her armful of shirts on the counter, along with the hat, a model of the Destiny Ascension, and a package of fruit candy.

"You did _what?_" Miranda practically screeched, causing the young maiden to jump as she totaled Shepard's items.

The commander ignored her reaction. "Look Lawson, maybe you're not quite aware of your organization's reputation, but we're not going to get many people on our side if we roll through the Terminus Systems with that logo plastered across our ass. Don't worry - I told Joker no pin-up girls."

Miranda almost couldn't believe what she had just heard. She inhaled deeply and forced herself to count to ten before speaking again. "Does this have anything with what happened with Tali'Zorah at Freedom's Progress?"

Once again, Shepard's eyes blazed. Another sore subject. "What happened between Tali and I is none of your goddamn business," she snapped.

Shepard then turned her attention to the maiden and her eyes widened in surprise when she saw cigarette display just behind her. "Oh, thank _God._ Two cartons, please," she ordered. Shepard glanced in Miranda's direction, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially to the asari. "Actually, better make it three."

The maiden giggled and nodded. She added the cartons to the bag, then looked expectantly at Shepard. Shepard looked over at Miranda and raised a brow.

"What? Oh, _fine_," she retorted, retrieving her credit chit and slamming it down on the counter. The maiden swiped it up and quickly finished the transaction, handing it back to the operative with a smile.

"Thanks." Shepard grabbed her bags and leaned in again to speak to the asari, jerking a thumb in Miranda's direction. "She's a real sweetheart once you get to know her." The maiden giggled again, and Miranda just rolled her eyes.

She lead Shepard out of the store, turning towards the nearest rapid transit station. All she wanted was to return to the Normandy as quickly as possible, evaluate whatever damage that deranged pilot Moreau had caused, and get them all back on task. She was nearly at the station before she realized she was walking alone.

Miranda whipped around to see Shepard standing several yards away. The commander had already torn open a carton of cigarettes, and was fumbling with a pack as she held all of her bags in one hand. She eventually managed to extract a cigarette and unapologetically lit it in the middle of the corridor. Miranda watched as Shepard inhaled deeply, eyes closing in obvious enjoyment, before blowing out an impossibly large plume. After a moment, the commander finally started walking, trailing a thin line of smoke behind her.

"I don't think you can smoke here, Shepard," Miranda said.

Shepard's eyes narrowed, and she exhaled another cloud as she strode past the operative.

"You only live once, Lawson."

* * *

"I come bearing gifts."

Shepard held the bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy out in front of her, waving it enticingly, before slowly easing into the medbay. She tensed slightly, waiting for the inevitable reprimand that was sure to come her way. She wasn't disappointed, as Chakwas spun around in her seat an immediately fixed the commander with a withering glare.

"And you think plying me offers of alcohol will make up for the fact that you haven't been down here to see me yet?" The older woman crossed her arms and arched a brow, as if she was admonishing a small child.

Shepard looked down at the bottle in her hand, pursing her lips as she thought. "Yes...?" she said hopefully.

Chakwas continued to glare for another moment, before her facade finally cracked and she smiled broadly. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Come here, would you?" Shepard stepped forward as Chakwas rose from her seat, and allowed herself to be enveloped in a hug. "It's good to see you, Commander."

Shepard stiffly returned the hug and stepped back, surprised by the affectionate gesture. "Likewise."

Chakwas grabbed the bottle from Shepard and placed it on her desk. "We will save this for later. Now, I want to have a look at you." Chakwas steered Shepard to the nearest biobed and sat her down roughly.

"Ever tell you how much I hate doctors?" Shepard grumbled darkly, and immediately began fidgeting.

"I see your delightful personality remains intact. What a relief." Chakwas activated her omni tool and began waving it over Shepard's torso. "How are you feeling?"

Shepard almost laughed at the question. "Okay, I guess, considering I was raised from the dead and all."

Chakwas smiled thinly, but her gaze remained fixed on her readouts. "Honestly, it's quite frightening what Cerberus was able to accomplish. Even I don't understand all of the technology they used in your reconstruction." She frowned as she moved the scanner over Shepard's forearms. "It appears that this scarring extends throughout your entire body. Is that correct?"

Shepard looked down at the glowing red lines that criss-crossed her arms. She had conducted a rather thorough inspection of herself at the first opportunity, and was disconcerted at what she had discovered. Her tattoos were gone, replaced instead by the bright scarring that ran across her torso and extremities, the severest of which appeared to be limited to her face. She had never overly cared about her appearance, beyond basic grooming, but the sight of the glowing, pulsating lines running over her cheeks and forehead had taken her aback. The ocular implants didn't help with that feeling, either, as her eyes now had an omnipresent red tinge to them, which mixed with the deep blue of her irises to create an unsettling violet hue. The commander sighed and self-consciously rubbed her arm.

"Yes. It seems to be the worst on my face and chest."

The doctor nodded sympathetically, as if she had been expecting that response. "I'm not surprised. Ms. Lawson's reports indicated that your scarring hadn't completely healed before you were revived. I've been doing some preliminary research, and my initial guess is that your body is having an adverse reaction to the implants. It also appears that negative attitudes and stresses aggravate the condition. I believe if you focus on peaceful and compassionate interactions, the scarring will heal on its own."

Shepard snorted. "Like 'think happy thoughts'?"

Chakwas rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. "Yes, Commander, as difficult as that may be for you. However, for the sake of preserving your dour mood, I will research some additional upgrades to our surgical equipment that could insulate the implants and accelerate the healing process."

Shepard just nodded, ignoring the older woman's jabs. "And what about this?" She held out her hand and exhaled deeply, focusing her attention on the tingling sensation in her fingertips. After a moment of concentration, a sphere of blue energy shot forth from her palm, rising sharply towards the ceiling before it evaporated as quickly as it had appeared.

"Yes. _That._" Chakwas looked decidedly unamused at the display. "I do question the wisdom of giving someone like you biotic abilities. It's like giving a teenager a grenade launcher." She scrolled through the readouts on her omnitool. "You've been fitted with Cerberus's version of an L5n implant. It functions essentially the same, but from what I can tell, this model has been heavily modified and customized to you specifically. With the proper training, you can easily develop the capability to generate massive dark energy discharges. Have you tested them yet?"

Shepard looked down at her palms, opening and closing her hands several times before wiping them roughly on the thighs of her fatigues. "No, not really. It's...strange. I'm not even sure what I _can _do."

"Developing your skills will take time. I suggest you speak to either Ms. Lawson or Mr. Taylor about creating a training program. And please be careful. Don't go running off half-cocked just because you can knock things over with your mind."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "I got it."

"I'm also putting you on a new dietary program, effective immediately. 4,500 calories per day. No exceptions. It takes a massive amount of effort to generate dark energy and you will exhaust yourself quickly if you don't keep your body properly fueled. I hope Mess Sergeant Gardner develops a more palatable menu, or you'll be eating a lot of protein bars." Chakwas continued scanning her readouts, but the way she spoke made it sound like a threat than anything else. Shepard made a face. She recalled Kaidan complaining loudly about the rations onboard the Normandy before.

Well...the first Normandy. Thoughts of Kaidan, her crew, and her lost ship brought a pang to Shepard's chest. She glanced over at the door at the end of the med bay that used to open to the small science lab. The room was now the AI core. Her jaw tensed and she pinched the bridge of her nose, the dull ache she had been experiencing ever since reawakening once again rearing its head.

"Commander? Are you alright?"

"Fine," Shepard mumbled. "Just a headache."

Chakwas's frowned deepened. "I'm sure. No doubt you've been under a lot of stress lately." She waved her omnitool over the commander's forehead. "Nothing abnormal that I can see. Have you been sleeping?"

Shepard shrugged, and tore her gaze away from the door. "For the most part."

"You're slightly dehydrated, as well. Drink an electrolyte supplement and try to get some rest. Let me know if it doesn't go away."

"Sure. Anything else, doctor?"

"Yes. Quit smoking."

Shepard sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah." She glanced over at the former lab entrance again, then back to the doctor. Chakwas was favoring her with a sympathetic smile. It made Shepard squirm.

"Shepard - "

"Thank you, Doctor," Shepard cut her off brusquely and hopped off the biobed. "I appreciate your time."

Chakwas opened her mouth to speak, but Shepard shot her a look that quickly dispelled any thoughts of protest. Instead the older woman straightened, rolling back her shoulders and arching a brow at the commander, refusing to be defeated quite so easily. "I expect you to take care of yourself, Commander. You've been through a lot. There is no shame in admitting that fact."

"Of course," Shepard nodded. "I'll keep that in mind." She quickly turned and strode out of the medbay, sighing in relief as she left the lab behind her.


	5. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

**Chapter 4: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly**

_It's not personal. It's strictly business._

* * *

Omega was filthy; the air was laden with the thick stench that only came from dozens of species living in far too close of quarters. Shepard could practically taste the sweat and oil and steam that emanated from the teeming life within. Particles of dirt and grime clung to her exposed skin as she moved, and it felt like she was passing through hanging clouds of debris with every step.

And she loved it. Omega was wholly unlike the sterile environments of Alliance warships and stations to which she had become accustomed. Walking through the dark, twisted corridors and inhaling the thick air made her feel the most alive she'd ever been since waking up in that white, bleached lab weeks ago.

Shepard also didn't mind the effect Omega had on her companions. Miranda and Jacob flanked either side of her, and Shepard felt their discomfort increase the deeper they moved into the station. Miranda's ever-present frown was carved even deeper into her face, and she was walking very deliberately, taking great care to avoid touching anything. Jacob was wound tighter than usual, and gave a slight jump at every corner they turned, as if he was expecting to be attacked by vorcha any second. Shepard suppressed a grin.

They had exited the docking bay, and had nearly reached the inner hub of the station when they were suddenly stopped by a large batarian, who was busy shooing away a pesky salarian.

"Welcome to Omega...Shepard." The batarian spoke courteously, even graciously, as his four eyes flicked between the Spectre and her companions.

Despite his outwardly genial nature, Shepard immediately tensed. "You know me?"

"Of course. We had you tagged the moment you entered the Terminus system. You're not as subtle as you think."

"I see." Shepard shot an irritated glance over her shoulder. Thanks to Joker, the Normandy no longer bore the distinctive Cerberus brand, and instead only sported a simple black base coat with a single red stripe running down the starboard hull. Unfortunately, Shepard was sure her ship still emitted a Cerberus signature. The situation also wasn't helped by the fact that, despite her objections, both Miranda and Jacob had insisted upon wearing full battle gear onto the station. Their affiliation could not have been broadcasted more effectively if they were holding bright neon signs. Shepard herself was clad only in a black t-shirt and cargo pants, and had a lone pistol strapped to her hip.

She turned back to the batarian. "So what the hell do you want?"

"It's not what I want, and you know it," the batarian chuckled slightly, then narrowed his gaze. "She wants to see you. Afterlife. Now."

"We'll get there," Shepard shot back, irritated at the none-too-subtle order.

"I wouldn't keep her waiting," the batarian said, then walked away without another word.

Shepard stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, jaw twitching, and heard over her shoulder Jacob quietly asking Miranda who the batarian was talking about. She sighed, then continued further into the station.

It was impossible to operate in the Terminus Systems without knowing of Aria T'Loak, and Shepard was both surprised and vaguely annoyed that Jacob wasn't aware of the breath of the matriarch's influence. Of course, her experience with the infamous Pirate Queen was probably different than most.

Charlie "Red" Reding was the undisputed leader of the Tenth Streets Reds, and was as ambitious as he was intelligent. Shepard had been lucky enough to fall under his protection as soon as she had hit the streets, and rose dramatically through the ranks of the gang to become one of his top lieutenants at a surprisingly young age. As such, she was privy to his internal strategy, and usually they did agree upon most of his plans. Until the day the Reds came across a massive shipment of red sand.

Shepard was immediately uneasy about the entire situation; the human merchant who had brought the product to Earth was far too eager to unload it, but Red saw the price offered and failed to heed her warnings. The profit from the sale could not only easily fund their operations for years, but would also be the platform for Red's ultimate goal of expanding the gang's reach into surrounding territory. And so the deal was struck, the product easily sold to hungry sand addicts, and credits suddenly rained from the sky.

Aria's goons showed up several weeks later - a squad of Blue Sun mercs comprised entirely of humans, apparently retained to hunt down a certain merchant who had hijacked a load of red sand that had been intended for Omega. Shepard was surprised at how reasonable they had been at first. Most of the product had been sold off, so the mercs had just asked for a majority of the profit, less a small percentage for the Reds. Sand sold for a higher price on Earth than Omega, and Aria would be more than willing to share at least a portion of the wealth.

In retrospect, they should have just handed over the credits, but Red was flush with power, and insulted by the merc's offer. After all, why should they give a shit about some prima donna asari in the Terminus Systems? Most of the gang members had never even heard of the systems outside Sol, let alone harbored any delusions of ever getting off world. Shepard herself couldn't help but become giddy at the sale, cocky and complacent now that she had both a full belly and full pockets. She, along with the rest of the crew, were hesitant to willfully surrender such treasures.

The attacks had been swift and brutal. The mercs cut a swath through the Reds' turf with an almost embarrassing ease, and although the crew fought back just as viciously, they had been dealt a staggering blow. Rival gangs, jealous of the Reds' unabashed expansion and newly acquired wealth, began moving in, like vultures circling a dying animal. Plus, the ensuing violence and chaos also drew the attention of the local authorities, who used the situation to finally capture the head of a gang that had been a thorn in their sides for years. By the time it was all over, Red was incarcerated, five of his top lieutenants were dead, and Shepard was scrambling to get off world before she herself was jailed, or killed in the ensuing power struggle.

Shepard shook her head slightly as they walked towards the club. It had been years since she had thought about what prompted her quick exodus from Earth. She never regretted leaving, and in a strange way, felt somewhat grateful for the merc's violent intervention. Her life up until that point had been inexorably tied to the streets, and only an outside influence of that magnitude would have allowed herself to be free from that path. And now look at what she had accomplished - N7 designation, Spectre, Hero of the Citadel. Hell, she had even been raised from the dead.

Not bad for a skinny little street rat. Maybe she should actually thank Aria.

They bypassed the line stretching outside of the club, ignoring the enraged protests of a human who had presumably spent a better part of an hour waiting for admission. Shepard lead them down a tight, dark corridor that was vibrating from the sounds of heavy bass music. A set of double doors opened when they reached the end, and suddenly, they were in Afterlife.

Shepard was assaulted by so many sensations at once it was nearly impossible to think. The heavy thrum of the music reverberated through her chest, made her feel like her entire body was trembling. She glanced up, and was momentarily distracted by the array of asari dancers that were performing on an elevated stage above the bar. Tendrils of biotic energy swirled around them as they danced, accentuating their movements. A dancer looked down and locked eyes with the human, then curled her lips into a sly grin. The wisps floated down towards Shepard and curled around her hands and wrists, enticing her to move closer to the stage. The air sparked around Shepard's fingers and she felt her own biotics flare in reaction. Her hands immediately balled into fists and she looked away.

Shepard put her head down and moved toward the VIP suite in the back of the club, not bothering to see if her companions were still behind her. She stood several deep breaths as she walked, irritated that her newly-acquired skills apparently had a mind of their own. She was met at the VIP stairs by a curt turian, and after a few pointed words, was finally allowed admission.

The music was immediately muted the moment the doors slid behind them, reduced now to a dull hum. Shepard and her squad found themselves in a large room, dominated by a window that stretched across the wall and looked out over the entire club. Several lush couches lined the room, and on either side stood asari servers, each holding a tray full of every alcohol imaginable. Two armed guards, both turians, were stationed at the entrance and eyed Shepard suspiciously.

"That's close enough."

The order came from a figure standing with her back to the new arrivals. Her arms were crossed and she was gazing out the window with an imperiousness that came only with ownership. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, then nodded.

A massive batarian suddenly appeared in Shepard's face, wearing a sneer and a jagged scar that cut across a gnarled face. The human could see instantly that he was much less mannered than the one they had encountered earlier, and was proved right when he roughly jammed a scanner against her chest.

Shepard snarled but didn't speak, instead fiercely glaring at the batarian until he was finished. She could feel Miranda and Jacob tense behind her, and motioned subtly with her hand for them to remain at ease.

"She's clean," the batarian announced, then stepped aside. At the proclamation, the figure turned to properly greet her new arrivals.

Shepard was surprised at just how small Aria T'Loak actually was. She was several centimeters shorter than the human and she had a slight frame. She was still muscular, though, all taunt sinew and tendons stretched across sharp bone. But despite her lean figure, she still moved with the grace and lightness all asari possessed, and the swell of her hips was highlighted by tight leather pants and matching jacket. Her facial markings were so intricate that they had to be tattoos, and achieved what had to be an intended effect of making her look surprisingly menacing despite her small stature.

The air crackled when she moved, and Shepard could feel the energy pulsing off the asari in waves, even though Aria remained nothing but cool and composed. Her own biotics began to flare again, and she wasn't sure if it was a defensive mechanism, or if she was somehow feeding off the power the asari was effortlessly generating. The same buzzing sensation she'd experienced in the past rushed back, except this time it was stronger than what she felt before, even when she was around Liara, and Shepard realized Aria was the most powerful biotic she had ever encountered.

Aria sat down on a plush, blood red divan, then fixed the human with a slight smirk. "It appears the rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated, Shepard." She gestured to the couch next to her.

Shepard cautiously took the offered seat, her violet eyes flicking over to her squad. Both the operatives were still wary, and Jacob kept his hand hovering near the pistol on his hip. The Spectre glanced back to her host. "You know me?"

Aria laughed lightly, perhaps even a bit dismissively, and then waved over one of the servers. "I make it a point to know everything that occurs on this station. Especially the arrival of a supposedly dead Spectre."

The asari waitress was young, clearly just entering the first few years of maidenhood, but had been well trained. She leaned forward suggestively, offering Shepard an unobstructed view of both the liquor selection and the remarkably low cut of her dress. The human nodded in appreciation, and tried to remain unfazed at the display. She quickly selected a beverage, hastily grabbing the glass nearest to her, and the waitress silently slipped away.

"So you run this place, then?" Shepard asked, taking a healthy sip of her drink. She chocked back her grimace when she realized she had inadvertently grabbed several ounces of pure ryncol. She quickly drank again, hoping to down enough of the offensive liquid to cover her mistake. Uncharacteristically, it burned less the second time and her stomach wasn't churning. Shepard's eyes flicked over towards Miranda. Apparently Cerberus did more than just gift her with biotics.

Aria made her own selection, unabashedly slapping the ass of the waitress as she turned, and began sipping at her own ryncol. Shepard was pleased to see that apparently she had made the right choice. "You might say that," the asari responded. "Omega has no titled ruler. Everyone is free to live how they choose, to pursue whatever ventures they wish. And if, perhaps, a small portion of those proceeds makes its way into my pocket, who am I to refuse?" Aria smirked again, and it was apparent to Shepard that such contributions were not made willingly. "So what can I do for you?"

Shepard blinked at the unexpected cooperativeness. "Just like that?"

Aria put down her drink. "I see I have not made myself clear. Word travels irritatingly fast on this station. Omega has seen its fair share of Spectres pass through before, but one that has apparently risen from the dead and is flying with a Cerberus signature, makes people very nervous. And when people are nervous, my business suffers. And _nobody_ fucks with my business." Aria's eyes, also tinged with a violet hue, suddenly changed into ice and she fixed Shepard with a ruthless glare. "Perhaps that is a rule with which you are already familiar."

Shepard cocked her head, but was sure to keep her expression neutral. She had been curious as to what Aria remembered, if anything, of the past incident with the Reds. When she had enlisted, she was fairly certain that her connection to the gang would be nearly impossible to trace; her fake identification card and different name had been impeccable, and the Alliance had turned a blind eye to the obvious evidence of her gang affiliation. But her appointment as a Spectre years ago had brought an new level of scrutiny to her childhood, and rumors about her possible criminal ties - perpetuated by several tenacious journalists - were now more common. It wouldn't be surprising if those reports had jogged the asari's memory.

The human shifted slightly, and gestured in an offhand manner. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Aria continued to glare at her for a long moment, before apparently deciding the subject wasn't worth anymore of her time. "I'm sure," she snorted. "Now, what the fuck are you doing on my station?"

"I'm looking for some people." Shepard drained the rest of her drink and set it on a nearby table. "Where would I find Mordin Solus?"

An amused, almost wistful expression crossed the asari's face. "Ah, the salarian doctor. Last I heard, he was helping plague victims in the quarantine zone. I always liked Mordin - he's as likely to heal you as he is to shoot you."

Shepard arched a brow. "Fair enough. I'm also looking for Archangel."

Aria actually rolled her eyes. "That guy? You want him dead, too?"

"Maybe." Shepard shrugged, not wanting to reveal any details about her plans unless she absolutely had to.

"You're in luck, then." Aria waved over the maiden who had served her earlier, and swapped out her empty glass for a fresh one. "The local merc groups have joined together to take him down. They have him cornered, but are apparently having trouble finishing the job. They've been hiring anyone with a gun to help them. Recruiting is right around the corner."

"What did he do to piss off so many people?"

"He's some sort of damned vigilante. He showed up a few months ago and started causing all sorts of problems. If you make your own laws - which everyone here does - he makes life difficult." Aria shook her head. "He's smart enough to steer clear of me directly, but he's rapidly becoming an..._annoyance._" The tone in her voice emphasized exactly how she handled such individuals.

Shepard couldn't resist a slight smirk. "He's fucking with your business, I take it?"

"Exactly. I was hoping those idiot mercs would have it handled by now, but I may be forced to step in. Aria gave Shepard a pointed look. "That is, of course, unless the situation resolves itself."

"I'll see what I can do." Shepard stood to leave. "Thanks for the help."

Aria didn't respond verbally, instead waving the human away like she was swatting a persistent insect. Shepard stepped down from the sitting area, had nearly exited the VIP area with her squad when she was called back. She turned in surprise and saw that Aria was giving her an oddly evaluative look, as if she was finally deemed worthy to command all of the asari's attention.

"I don't know what you're up to, Shepard, but try not to get yourself killed again." Aria's eyes flicked over Shepard's shoulder to Miranda, then came back to the Spectre. An infuriating grin suddenly crossed the asari's face. "After all, I'm sure there are several people who would hate to see all those credits go to waste."

Shepard didn't know what Aria meant by her comment, but she could tell it was obviously meant to elicit a reaction. She turned back around without a word, and lead her squad out of the VIP area and back out into the thrumming club. Her chest tightened uncomfortably, and when they were a safe distance away from the suite, she turned on Miranda.

"What the fuck was that about?"

The operative didn't answer.

* * *

Shepard learned far back into the couch and sipped at her whiskey as she watched the skyball game projected on the wall of the port side lounge. The Legionnaires were down by fourteen points with less than five minutes in the match. Their opponent, the Terapso Tridents, had dominated throughout most of the game, leading by as much as thirty, but the Legionnaires had slowly chipped away at the Tridents' lead over the second half. The announcers were speculating wildly over the Legionnaires' chances, and if the Legionnaires miraculously pulled out the win, it would be one of the greatest comebacks in Galactic Cup history.

But Shepard felt no anxiety, no excitement, no tension over the outcome of the match. She was curious, certainly, but that was the extent of her emotions. Her eyes flicked down to the timestamp on the recording. It had been translated to Galactic Standard. October 5, 2184.

Shepard began idly rubbing at her temple with one hand. The steady headache she had been fighting had somehow eased during her the mission to Omega, but was now back in full force. Even though Chakwas hadn't found anything abnormal during her initial exam, the pain hadn't completely disappeared, and Shepard was resigned to the fact that she would eventually have to request a more thorough analysis. For now, the whiskey dulled the ache enough for it be manageable.

The door opened behind her, and Shepard spun around to stare over the back of the couch. Her face broke into the smallest hint of a grin when she saw Garrus Vakarian saunter into the lounge.

"Spirits, Shepard. Was Cerberus too cheap to give you a cabin?" His mandibles flared crookedly, his amusement obvious despite the fresh wounds on his face.

"Don't like it up there. It's too fancy. And too quiet." Shepard stood and gestured to the corner of the room. "Besides, this is where bar is."

"My kind of ship." He reached out toward the human, and she quickly took his proffered hand, clasping their palms together with a loud clap. Shepard's grin widened.

"Good to see to up. I thought Chakwas would have you locked down for the night."

Garrus shrugged, impossibly making the gesture look effortless despite his injuries. "I sang the theme from 'Fleet and Flotilla' until she let me leave. I guess she's not a fan."

Shepard chuckled and lead him to the bar. "Good to see your sense of humor's intact. Even if your face isn't." She ducked down and began rummaging around the lower cabinets, searching for an appropriate beverage for the turian.

"Be honest with me - how bad is it?"

Shepard glanced up. "Hell, Garrus, you were always ugly. Getting hit in the face with a rocket is probably an improvement."

Garrus clicked his good mandible in her direction. "Asshole."

Shepard chuckled again, a low, gravelly sound that, as usual, was the sole indication of her amusement. She straightened abruptly, lifting up two bottles - a half-empty whiskey and a fresh liter of turian brandy. Two generous drinks were quickly poured, and they clinked their glasses together in a small, wordless celebration of their reunion.

Garrus took a healthy swallow, then leveled his steel grey eyes at the human. "So. Cerberus, huh?"

Shepard leaned forward, crossing her arms on the bar as she idly twirled her drink in one hand. She didn't feel exactly comfortable discussing her true feelings about her new employer while on board the Normandy; she was sure there was recording devices around the entire ship. She could have easily requested that EDI deactivate such devices, but her request would no doubt be noted, and she hadn't decided whether she could even trust the AI in the first place. Still, there was nowhere else to go, and Garrus deserved some kind of explanation.

"Yep. Cerberus," she repeated in a low voice.

Garrus waited a moment, then clicked at her sharply. "This is the part where you tell me what a great idea this is."

The human sighed and dragged a hand through the thick mop of curls. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Garrus?" she said with a hiss. "The Alliance brass still don't believe I was actually dead. They all think I was doing undercover Spectre shit, or have been working for Cerberus this whole time. Half the brass want to strip me of my commission, and the other half want to throw my ass in jail." Shepard's hand tightened around the glass, but she refused to let her voice rise despite her frustration. "This isn't ideal by any means, but the fact of the matter is that the Reapers _are_ coming, and it seems like Cerberus is the only group doing anything about it."

"Yeah, but a _suicide _mission?" Garrus shook his head. "That's crazy, even for you."

"If the Collectors are working for the Reapers, we have to know. Plus, they destroyed my ship and stole two years of my life. We get in, blow the place to hell, and get the fuck out. I'm not planning on getting killed." She leaned in closer to Garrus, her jaw set firmly. She could feel the surge of heat behind her eyes, and knew the implants were flaring as she spoke. "And when we're done with that, we take this ship, the money, all of our new toys - and figure out how to save the goddamn galaxy."

The turian looked at her curiously, obviously weighing what she had said, and she was keenly aware of how his sharp eyes roved over the scars on her cheeks. Finally, his face broke out into a twisted grin.

"Been practicing that speech, haven't you?"

Shepard cocked her head slightly. "Little bit. Did I rush it? I thought I rushed it."

"No, it was good." Garrus turned to gaze out the large observation window, mandibles clicking softly. He let out a long breath. "Aw, fuck it. I'm in."

Shepard reached across the bar and clapped him on the shoulder, then pulled back her hand to refill his drink. "Good. Now, you want to tell me how you ended up on Omega and Aria T'Loak's shit list?"

"I just got sick of it all, Shep," Garrus responded quietly, still looking out the window. An uncharacteristic softness drifted through the sub harmonics of his voice. "The council, C-Sec, all that bureaucratic bullshit. It got worse after the Normandy was destroyed. At least on Omega, I felt like I was actually doing something good. I was helping people, and I was appreciated for it. I think, for a time, that was what I needed." He paused, then turned back towards her, fixing the human with a knowing look. "After you died, we were all a little lost."

Shepard tensed involuntarily. They had finally approached the one subject she hated and yet was desperate to talk about. She tossed back the rest of her whiskey, then focused intensely at the bottom of the glass.

"Do you know where Liara is?"

"No." Garrus said, a little regretfully. "I haven't seen her since the funeral. I got a message from her once, a couple months after I got to Omega. It was so coded and encrypted I didn't even know it was from her. It was short, too - all she said was that she knew what I was doing and that she wanted me to be careful. I tried to reply, but it just bounced back."

"I can't find her either." A swell of frustration suddenly overtook her, and she slammed her fist down on the bar. The liquor bottles shook violently, threatening to spill over. "What the fuck is going on? She has to know I'm alive! It's all over the extranet!" Her headache bloomed again, and she unclenched her hand to rub at her temples.

"Just give her some time," the turian said. "You _died_, Shep. You have to remember that." Shepard glanced up in time to see the sympathy in Garrus's grey eyes. "The look on her face when she saw you weren't in that lifepod - it tore us all up. I've never seen anything like that before."

Shepard winced and experienced a physical jolt of pain at the image. "I know, I know. That's why I have to find her, and tell her that...that..." She trailed off, unsure what exactly she was trying to express. She had never vocalized the depth of her feelings for Liara - not even to the asari, and certainly not to anyone outside the relationship. And, perhaps even more importantly, never truly admitted it to herself. Garrus and Tali were the only ones who could even venture a guess at the one thing Shepard never acknowledged. Despite the years that had passed, the human saw that Garrus remained eerily prescient on the subject.

"She'll come around. Trust me." The turian's mandibles flared again in his version of a smile, and Shepard realized that feature would forever be a little uneven. "What the two of you had doesn't go away that easily."

She just grunted in response, staring again at the empty glass. A tiny spark of hope ignited at Garrus's words, but she quickly pushed it away, too afraid to feed it in case he turned out to be wrong. She decided not to tell him that, in her experience, nothing ever lasts.

There was silence between them, and the only sound in the lounge was the taped skyball broadcast. Shepard looked up as she heard a loud roar, and saw a mob of spectators spill out onto the field in celebration of the Legionnaires' improbable victory. Despite her passion for the team, it was difficult to muster any enthusiasm for the win.

"That was a helluva match," Garrus commented. "I'm sorry you missed it."

She shrugged. "I missed a lot of things, apparently."

"Let's get you caught up, then." Garrus activated his omni tool with a flourish, and began tapping manically on the display. The image on the vid screen changed to the beginning of a different skyball match. He pulled Shepard out from behind the bar and pushed her determinedly towards the couch.

"So, the Ulessian Ogres and Armali Storm met for the first time in last year's divisional playoffs, and this had to have been one of the most brutal games I've even seen. You're not gonna believe what happened in the first two minutes..."


	6. Casualties of War

**A/N:** Again, thank you for all the reviews and follows. As you can probably tell, I'm going to be skipping around a lot in this piece; we've all played the game and I see no point in rehashing all the missions unless I can add something to them. And, quite honestly, there are far better authors than I when it comes to steering left of canon. My goal is to simply create as interesting a bridge into ME3 that I can.

Thanks again for those you continue to read, follow, review...and tolerate my sporadic updating.

And by the way, Illium's up next.

Best,

-jt-

* * *

**Chapter 5: Casualties of War **

_I have wondered about you  
Where will you be  
When this is through  
If all goes as planned  
Where will you redeem my life again?_

* * *

**The Presidium**

**August 2183**

It's late when Shepard finally arrives back at the apartment. Chakwas had been especially merciless that session, and after two hours of intensive rehab still makes her run home. The apartment is on the other end of the damn ward, but the doctor ignores her protests. She stumbles in the door nearly an hour later, chest heaving and legs like rubber. Shepard manages to make it to the refrigeration unit and down several glasses of water. It takes her a moment to realize that Liara isn't there.

She finds the asari out on the small back deck, curled away from her on the swinging bench, looking impossibly small. She doesn't hear Shepard approach, and the human has to call her name twice before she responds. Liara jerks as if she's been slapped, and quickly swipes at her face. She still smiles warmly, though, despite her tears, and it's sad and beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

Shepard walks over and carefully sits down next to her, wincing slightly at the stiffness in her knee and hips. She tentatively raises an arm, and Liara silently turns and buries her face in the human's chest, tucking her legs underneath her to avoid the brace clamped around Shepard's knee. There's a slight breeze, generated by the Citadel's environmental controls, and the cool air feels divine on Shepard's flushed skin, but Liara has been sitting outside so long that she's shivering. Shepard tightens both arms around her, and Liara makes a joke about the human needing a shower. She doesn't pull away, though, instead burrowing deeper and twisting a hand in Shepard's damp shirt. Shepard smiles thinly. Li's always cold.

Grief comes off the asari in waves, so thick Shepard feels like she's choking. She wants to apologize yet again, drop to her knees and beg forgiveness, swear upon all that is holy that she would trade places with Liara's mother if she could. But that's not want Liara needs. Nor would it do any good. They both know it had to be done, but that doesn't make it any easier to stomach or make the pain disappear any faster.

Shepard thinks a moment, chewing slightly on her bottom lip, then speaks.

What was she like?

Liara's tone is soft, hesitant, but quickly grows in strength. She tells Shepard of Benezia's grace and kindness. That she looked beautiful in yellow. The acres of gardens that surrounded the estate in Armali. How her mother would scold her for digging for ruins in the park nearby their home, but then filled the library with every archeology book she could find. That Benezia loved to cook, and how her bright laugh would fill every room of the estate.

Then Liara's voice shifts, and Shepard hears the bitterness creep in. Apparently, with each year that passed, she saw less and less of her mother. Liara talks about the formal dinners and meetings and speeches that took precedence over all. Her mother had only seen a handful of her skyball games. Missed countless school events and award ceremonies. And, of course, had decried her career in academia even though she was never there to witness its gestation. Liara doesn't elaborate on what ultimately lead to the falling out, but Shepard guesses Benezia's absenteeism played a larger role than Li would want to admit. There is never enough time.

The apartment is nestled on the opposite side of the main traffic lanes, and the omnipresent squeal of aircars is reduced to a mere hum. She only hears the sound of Liara's voice and the soft breathing against her neck. Shepard leans back slightly and looks up at the night sky. She knows the stars are fake, just a holographic projection to complete the illusion of a day/night cycle, but she can appreciate the effort put in to such theatrics.

What about your mother?

Shepard starts at the question, and her mouth opens and closes several times as she formulates a response. In all honesty, she tries _not _to think of the woman. Any good memories are entwined too tightly with the bad. Liara apologizes before Shepard answers, knowing that is a difficult subject, and the human just pulls her in tighter and murmurs that it's okay.

Looking up at the stars, she's suddenly reminded of Ashley and her father, and the comfort the other woman took in her beliefs. Shepard remembers the first conversation they had, when she asked how you could look out at the galaxy and not believe in something. She wonders, for a brief moment, if the chief was right. Was Ashley's father looking down on them during the fight against Saren? What about Shepard's parents? Does Benezia know of her daughter's grief? And yet, even as she thinks about it, something tells her it's not true.

Shepard turns her head away from the sky. She presses her lips to Liara's forehead, then gently moves her hand to brush against the asari's cheek. She's no longer crying. Li reaches up and takes Shepard's hand in her own.

Can we stay out here a little longer?

Shepard smiles as their fingers lace together. She closes her eyes.

Of course.

* * *

YOU WILL KNOW PAIN.

Shepard grunted loudly as she crouched behind the wall of a prefab. She slapped out the spent heat sink, then pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. Fuck. It felt like her head was slowly being squeezed in a vice. The voice echoed through her and reverberated inside her skull.

I SENSE YOUR WEAKNESS.

Harbinger. She knew of him only through his loud proclamations, and although her squad could hear him as well, his pointed comments were directed at her alone - as were a majority of the Collector troops they were facing. At first she thought the voice was coming from a Collector, but then she witnessed one of the drones rising up like it had been snatched by some invisible hand, howl in pain as its carapace cracked, and then land with a harsh biotic glow. The realization that an actual Reaper was not only directing the attack, but could also possess a drone, sent a sharp chill down Shepard's spine.

MY ATTACKS WILL TEAR YOU APART.

And, like Sovereign, it appeared Harbinger was also a cocky asshole.

Shepard spun deftly around the corner, dropping to one knee as she brought her rifle to bear. She released three short bursts of fire, neatly downing the three Collectors advancing on her position. Off to her side, just out of her field of vision, she heard Harbinger howl in frustration. A fresh pack of drones suddenly dropped from the sky and made a beeline towards her position.

Shepard dove to the side just as a particle beam sliced through the wall of the prefab, exactly where her head had been a moment before. The stench of singed hair and melting plastic followed her as she rolled, and she suppressed a grimace. She came up out of her roll behind a shipping crate, bringing her rifle up at the same time she dug in the toe of her boot to stop her momentum.

Just as she was about to fire, a shaved, tattooed head filled her scope. Jack's arm was stretched behind her, her fist tightly clenched and wreathed in blue. She brought her arm forward with a violent sweeping motion and sent a searing path of explosions towards the group of Collectors Shepard had been aiming at. The drones were launched into the air and then hit the ground with devastating force.

"Goddammit, Jack!" Shepard barked, yanking up her rifle. "Watch your fucking line!"

The convict just looked over her shoulder and cackled maniacally. She leapt over a stack of crates and ran straight for the nearest drone, her biotics already recharged and glowing fiercely. On the far side of the defense tower, Shepard saw Grunt gleefully stomping on the Collectors that Jack had sent skyward a minute before. She could hear the visceral crack of their carapaces from across the battlefield, accompanied by the adolescent krogan's triumphant roar. He unloaded several rounds from his shotgun into the flattened carcasses, then turned and charged at a cluster of husks that seemingly emerged out of nowhere.

Shepard shook her head, then darted across the open field towards the steady, rhythmic rifle pops that were coming from behind an enclosed entry to one of the larger prefabs surrounding the tower. She slid in neatly next to Garrus, who continued to calmly pick off drones like it was a training exercise.

She reached into the bag slung across the turian's hip and pulled out several fresh heat sinks. "Well, at least they're enthusiastic," she grumbled irritably, quickly restocking the empty ammo pockets on her belt.

"Oh, let the kids have their fun, boss." Garrus ripped off two quick shots, then popped the spent heat sink with a flourish. "Grunt's been going crazy being cooped up in the storage bay all day."

Shepard couldn't help rolling her eyes. She swung out from behind their cover, fired several short bursts, then ducked back down again. She keyed her comm. "EDI, status report."

"GARDIAN anti-ship batteries at 78%. Continue defending the tower," the AI responded.

The commander grimaced, hunching down as several rounds pinged off the structure. That was easier said than done, Shepard realized, as she looked out over the battlefield. Jack, while staggeringly powerful, would eventually have to surrender to basic biology and could only keep her biotics active for so long before she burned out. Grunt, for all his strength and energy, had yet to learn to pace himself and Shepard could see he was already tiring. Shepard and Garrus, as expected, were faring better than the more inexperienced squad members, but they were running dangerously low on thermal clips. And the Collectors just kept coming.

As if reading her mind, the turian yelled over the comm. "Reinforcements!"

Shepard rolled away from Garrus and peered over the cover of the prefab's walkway. More drones - a dozen at least - flooded the open space between her position and the tower's firing computer. Another round of husks crawled out from beneath the prefabs, staggering forward as if they'd just been released from the bowels of hell. A sudden flash of pain exploded in Shepard's head, and she crouched down further, grinding her teeth together in frustration.

I KNOW YOU FEEL THIS.

Harbinger had possessed the drone nearest to Shepard, and its body was glowing menacingly as it charged itself for biotic attack. She tensed, the muscles in her torso coiling tightly as she exhaled through her teeth. She felt energy within her starting to build, swirling through her chest and trailing down her arms until the tips of her fingers tingled and itched. The air surrounding her began to crackle.

"Oh, would you just _shut up!"_

Shepard swung her arm over the railing, fist tightly clenched, and released a surge of dark energy directly at the possessed drone's head. The force of the discharge sent the Collector shooting across the field like a bullet, colliding into several other drones, until it struck the wall of a prefab with an audible crack. The eerie glow faded from the corpse, a thick black discharge oozing from its carapace.

The human hunkered back down and took a steadying breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Garrus's head turn.

"Impressive," he remarked dryly.

Shepard ignored him and popped her head out to take down two more drones with a burst of fire. No matter how awed her comrade was by the display, it would do them no damn good if they were overrun.

"EDI, how much - "

Shepard stopped as the drones and husks inexplicably halted their advance, instead retreating back behind the largest prefab. The commander frowned and her eyes flashed for a moment as they swept across the field. Her jaw twitched.

"Stay sharp." The words came out in harsh, clipped tones.

Just as she spoke, a great rumble tore through the ground beneath her and vibrated up the length of her shins. Over the tops of the prefabs, she saw the outline of what could only be described as a large insect heading directly toward the tower. Shepard blinked once, twice, before she was able to fully absorb what she was seeing.

It was like an insect, surely; six legs were clearly visible, curled tightly underneath its massive carapace, and two larger arms that extended from its front. But it wasn't fully organic, fully alive, as she could also see the pieces of metal that constructed its frame. As it drew slowly drew closer, Shepard could also make out the deformed husks the comprised the heart of the craft. She let out an involuntary shudder. The unholy alliance of flesh and metal, fused together with a utilitarian edge that left no room for aesthetic, reminded her sharply of Saren.

She barely had time to bark into the comm or duck behind cover before the monstrosity lit up in a blinding blue glow, then slammed down onto the ground. Shepard was thrown roughly against the nearest wall, the force of the impact pushing all the air out of her lungs. Her shields had collapsed completely, and her hardsuit interface was blaring in her ear, informing her that she was now exposed. She managed to climb up on all fours, then roll away as a particle beam, thicker and heavier than what the drones had been using before, began carving an arc towards her.

Shepard scrambled back towards Garrus, watching as the machine began to charge again, wrapping itself in the same eerily blue aura. She exchanged glances with the turian, who wordlessly unstrapped the grenade launcher lashed to his back. Shepard coughed roughly, then keyed her comm.

"Jack!" She had to yell to be heard over the whine of the beam. "We gotta get that thing's barrier down!"

"Fuck!" The curse nearly shattered Shepard's eardrum. "Get these fucking bugs off me first!"

The previously idle husks and drones had resumed their attack, and Shepard saw Jack fighting off the brunt of the drones as she slowly made her way closer to the commander's position. As if anticipating her move, several drones broke off to outflank her. Shepard's rifle snapped up, and she began picking off drones as fast as she could. She heard another roar from Grunt, one that sounded slightly more fatigued, as he continued his decimation of the husks.

Suddenly, Shepard was thrown back again as the machine slammed down without warning. She flew awkwardly, and her head cracked sharply against metal grating, her rifle skittering away. Dazed and tasting blood, she struggled to regain her footing, her head now pounding violently and her vision swimming. Shepard was so disorientated that, at first, she thought she was hallucinating when she caught a flash of white armor vaulting over a storage container.

Shepard pressed her palm to her forehead, blinked, then looked again. Ashley Williams had launched herself into the fray, bolting over to Jack's side. Her shotgun was ablaze, spitting forth rounds as fast as she could load them. It only took seconds for three drones to drop, and the chief punctuated her arrival by slamming the stock of her shotgun into the face of the fourth, then discharging a round directly into its head.

Jack whooped triumphantly, pumping her glowing fist in excitement and letting loose a barrage of curses. Shepard's vision cleared, and she gestured sharply at the biotic, then at the machine. She felt the energy grow within her again, and she gripped her rifle tightly, straining to hold back its release.

Jack darted to the opposite side of the field, drawing the attention of the massive particle beam. It carved at her heels as she sprinted, and she managed to duck behind cover as the beam dissipated to recharge. Jack immediately stood, reaching back as far as her arm could extend, and brought it forward like a giant, swinging haymaker punch, sending a discharge of energy towards the Collector machine. The beast was staggered for only a moment, swaying slightly as it hovered in midair. Shepard jumped up, thrusting her arm forward and release her own barrage of energy. They continued on like that for a few moments; each alternating hitting the machine and buffeting it back and forth enough so that was unable to recharge. Finally, its barriers fell with a loud groan.

Garrus swung out from cover, pivoting on his foot like a dancer, and let loose with the grenade launcher. The repeated _thunk thunk thunk _of the weapon echoed over the comm, and Shepard couldn't resist a slight grin as all three projectiles found their target. The monster crackled and hissed, as if in defiance, then belched forth a giant plume of smoke and collapsed to the ground.

"Shepard, the GUARDIAN anti-ship batteries are fully charged." EDI chirped cheerfully. "Shall I - "

"Yes, yes! Hit the goddamn thing!"

The ground rumbled beneath her again, but this time it was a welcome occurrence. Shepard watched as the massive lasers aligned themselves directly at the Collector ship in the distance and released their full battery. After only a few strikes, the ship withdrew, leaving the remnants of the pillaged colony in its wake.

Shepard hauled herself to her feet, head still pounding. They hadn't been successful; nearly half the population of Horizon was onboard that ship, but that was almost an afterthought. What was more important was that the Collectors were clearly a formidable enemy, were allied with the Reapers, and knew who she was. She set her jaw, drawing her lips into a thin, pale line ignoring the throbbing just behind her eyes.

Ashley was finishing off the last of the drones, joined by Jack and Grunt. Her squadmembers stepped aside as Shepard approached, displaying a remarkable amount of tact for a deranged biotic and teenaged krogan. They looked at the commander expectantly as Ashley popped her last heat sink, then turned towards Shepard.

"You have _got _to be shittin' me." Shepard was pulled into a rough hug before she could even react, which was immediately followed by a punch to her shoulder. "Have you been alive this whole time?"

Shepard saw Ashley's dark brown eyes flash in wonder, then excitement, then finally settle on anger. She quickly held up a placating hand. "No, no. I was in a coma for two years. I only came out of it a few months ago, I swear."

Ashley eyed her skeptically. "What the hell's going on, Skipper? First I hear rumors that you're actually alive, that the Alliance practically disowned you, and then that you might be working for Cerberus...?"

Shepard sighed and ran a hand through her grimy hair. Her head felt like it was slowly being split in two, and her former crewmate's accusatory look did nothing to ease the pain. "Look, chief - lieutenant - " Shepard stopped and immediately corrected herself when she noticed the new rank insignia on Ashley's armor. "I know this all sounds crazy, but I can explain - "

"Commander!" Shepard scowled as she was cut off by Miranda and Jacob's approach. She turned to see the operatives jog up to her location, the Normandy's shuttle idling several yards away. They were both still dressed in their Cerberus gear. She cursed under her breath.

Ashley's eyes widened and she took one long, deliberate step back. "So it's true? You're working for terrorists now?" Her eyes hardened into a piercing glare, and she looked over Shepard's shoulder. "You too, Garrus?"

The turian's mandibles clicked rapidly in agitation. "Ash, just give us a chance to - "

"Hell _no." _Ashley scoffed. "What is there to say? The first thing you did after waking up from a coma - if I even believe _that_ - is join Cerberus? Did that bioamp they drilled into leave you braindead, too? That's not the Shepard I knew. And it's not you either, Garrus."

Shepard's jaw twitched. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, her patience growing dangerously thin. "The Collectors are abducting entire colonies and are working for the Reapers. I'm not a traitor. The Alliance and the Council both hung me out to dry. Cerberus is the only organization that seems to give a damn about what we're about to face." The commander stepped forward, wisps of blue energy swirling around her hands. She spoke through tightly clenched teeth. "Do you think I _wanted _to lose two years of my life? Do you think I _asked _for this? I didn't have a fucking _choice._"

Ashley didn't flinch. "Bullshit." She jerked up her chin and stared at the taller woman defiantly. "I was on Ontarom, remember? I saw what Cerberus did to that corporal, and I watched as he blew his brains out because of it. You _always_ have a choice, Shepard." She shook her head and then, as if to twist the knife deeper, spoke again. "What do you think Liara would say if she knew? Did you even bother to - "

At the mention of the asari's name, Shepard snapped. Her fist was in motion before she realized it, and the action didn't even register until she heard the meaty crack upon her fist's impact. Ashley staggered back, but didn't fall. She bent forward at the waist, her hand clutching at her jaw and blood running from her mouth.

Shepard threw up her hands in frustration, then scrubbed at her face, ignoring the way her gloved palms scraped uncomfortably against the scars on her cheeks. Tentatively, she reached forward. "Fuck, Ash, I'm sorry..."

Ashley straightened, her normally playful eyes filled with a venom Shepard had never seen before. She slapped away the offered hand, than spat a mouthful of blood on the ground at Shepard's feet. Her voice was a low growl.

"Go to hell, Commander."

And with that, Ashley turned and walked away, shoulders back and chin held high. Shepard sighed and hung her head, staring at the spot of blood glistening on the toe of her boot. She looked up, eyes turning a soft violet as she watched the retreating form disappear behind a prefab. Quietly, she spoke under her breath.

"What do you see, Chief?"


	7. Of All the Gin Joints

**Chapter 6: Of All the Gin Joints **

_You look so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex  
A stranger with your door key, explaining that I am just visiting  
And I am finally seeing  
Why I was the one worth leaving_

* * *

Shepard leaned against the wall at the cockpit's entrance as Joker begin the Normandy's descent into Nos Astra, gripping a coffee mug and lit cigarette in one hand, the other firmly jammed in the front pocket of her cargo pants. Normally, the simple act of watching the pilot work brought a sense of calm, of balance, to the commander that few other things did. Now, it seemed that even the simplest of pleasures were lost to her. She took a healthy drag off her cigarette, and her other hand shot out to scratch irritably at the bioamp behind her right ear.

Truthfully, Shepard had felt out of sorts for weeks. Ever since Akuze, she had never realy been able to get a proper night's sleep, but her body had somehow adjusted to the constant sleep deprivation. With her new biotics, however, it was finally beginning to take its toll. She felt exhausted, yet anxious and restless at the same time. Every night, whenever, she closed her eyes, whether it be in her cabin, the lounge, or even down in engineering, she could never relax. Her body was always primed and charged, ready to leap into a fight at a moment's notice. And, whenever she finally did drift off, her dreams were so vivid that her biotics flared uncontrollably. She often awoke to find herself surrounded in a bright blue aura, or sprawled out on a floor haphazardly, thrown from a bed or couch by the force of her own power. It had gotten to the point that Shepard began stowing away any moveable objects before trying to sleep. And, of course, the headache that had plagued her since her resurrection continued still, no doubt exacerbated by her persistent lack of sleep.

Shepard took another drag, then a sip of the piping hot coffee. Her movements were mechanical and listless. Another sip, followed by a heavy sigh. Her head hurt, the scars on her face burned, and the skin around her bioamp itched incessantly. But at least Cerberus had the decency to provide a respectable cup of coffee.

"Huh."

Joker's grunt of surprise broke Shepard from her reverie. She frowned as the pilot steered the frigate into the docking arm. "What?'

"Looks like our fees have been waived," he responded, genuinely taken aback by the occurrence.

Shepard arched a brow, the skin on her forehead pulling uncomfortably at the gesture. "Which ones?" There was nothing Nos Astra officials loved more than their excessive and needlessly complex fee structure. Shepard wouldn't be surprised if she was charged for breathing the air once she stepped off the Normandy.

"Um, all of them, I think."

The commander's brow arched even higher. Now that was an interesting development. Before she could catch herself, a small trickle of energy slipped from her fingers, curling around the mug and cracking the ceramic. Shepard hissed sharply as the scalding coffee began dripping down her hand. That was the third one this week. She glanced up in time to catch Joker twisted in his seat, grinning wildly.

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing," the pilot replied lightly, turning back towards his console. "I'm just wondering if you plan on destroying _all_ the glassware onboard. The Ice Queen's gonna be pissed if she has to order brand new place settings..."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Fuck off, Joker." She set the mug on the nearest ledge and swiped her hands on her cargo pants, ignoring for a moment the coffee steadily dribbling onto the deck. "Have Garrus and Mordin meet me at the airlock. We'll go find out who our mysterious benefactor is."

"Aye, Commander."

Shepard smoothed the front of her black t-shirt, then picked up the mug, and headed back down to the mess, grumbling irritably under her breath.

* * *

"Wait, a fertility contract? Seriously?" Garrus's eyes widened as he walked next to the salarian scientist. Shepard cast a glance over her shoulder as the squad moved through the busy spaceport, carefully maneuvering her lit cigarette amongst the crowd.

"Yes. Contract was quite complicated. Negotiations lasted several months. Involved four separate clans, two dalatrasses, and three matriarchs." Shepard almost thought she heard a tremble in Mordin's voice. "Most intimidating."

Garrus was still taken aback by the arrangement. "But that's the only time you...well, you know..." He trailed off, his curiosity on the subject now leading right into embarrassment.

Shepard exhaled, sending up a cloud of smoke that hung over the entire dock. "Why are you surprised, Garrus? I thought most of your sexual experiences involved business transactions." She looked back with a thin smile. Mordin's large black eyes twinkled in amusement. Garrus's mandibles just clapped shut.

"Asshole," he muttered.

Shepard chuckled once, gruffly, then lead them out off the dock and out onto the main district's trading floor. They were greeted by a blast of warm, thick air as they exited the terminal. Despite the environmental controls, Illium's heat was inescapable, and the air was so humid Shepard thought she could almost gather the moisture in her cupped hands. The traffic lanes glittered in the late afternoon sun, the light reflecting off the never-ending stream of transports and sky cars seeming to add to the heat. After only a few minutes in the sticky humidity, Shepard began to sweat.

"Commander Shepard!"

Shepard looked away from the massive skyline to see a harried-looking maiden approaching them, followed by two security mechs. Despite the nervous look on her face, she still managed to be graceful even as she rushed. When she stopped in front of her, the human couldn't help but notice there wasn't a drop of sweat to be seen.

"Greetings, Commander Shep - oh, my apologies, but you cannot smoke here." She clasped her hands in front of her in a rigid display of formality. "Any kind of combustion-based recreational drug use is banned, and any violations are punishable with a fine of $1,000 credits and possible incarceration - "

"Jesus, I get it, alright?" Shepard deliberately plucked the cigarette from her lips, then held up her hands in surrender. "I'll put it out. And you are...?"

"My name is Careena. I am the head concierge for this terminal. I wanted to inform you that all docking and administration fees have been waived for your visit," the asari said.

Shepard bent down, propping an ankle on her knee so she could grind out her cigarette against the sole of her boot. "Uh huh. And how did we earn a free pass?"

"Liara T'Soni vouched for you, and paid all fees you would normally incur."

Shepard's hand shot out to grasp the railing so she wouldn't topple over. She kept her head down, focusing intently on her boot as she felt a distinct heat rush to her face. "L-Liara?" It was impossible to keep the waver out of her voice.

"Yes, Dr. T'Soni is head of LTS Consultants, Inc, a renowned information brokerage. Her office is located above the trading floor, should you wish to speak with her."

The commander swallowed once, hard, then finally straightened to look at Careena. "Thank you," she muttered. Her hands began clenching and unclenching rhythmically.

Careena bowed forward. "You're welcome, Commander. Enjoy your stay." She quickly hurried off, the mecs trailing dutifully behind her.

Shepard gazed up at the trading floor, eyes coming to rest on a large expanse of tinted windows that looked over the bustling area. Her pulse quickened, her heart hammering roughly against her ribs. Briefly, her feet were glued to the deck, and she found herself suddenly unable to move, even though the only thing she had wanted since awakening sat only meters away.

She heard Garrus mumble something her, but his words didn't register. She wasn't even sure if the turian was talking to her or Mordin. Ultimately, it didn't matter what he was saying, because suddenly she was in motion and walking briskly towards the stairs that lead up to Liara's office.

She took them two at a time, not caring whether it made her look too eager, or how the maiden manning the front desk jumped when she barreled through the door. Shepard only paused when she saw the asari's hand shoot beneath her desk. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, then widened when she recognized the human. She waved Shepard through, raising her hand from what could only be a weapon mounted under her workstation. Shepard glanced over her shoulder as Garrus and Mordin arrived, slightly out of breath.

"Give me a minute," she ordered. Without waiting for an acknowledgment, she took a deep breath, smoothed the front of her black t-shirt, then stepped into Liara's office.

The room was large, probably unnecessarily so, but the view from the large windows was gorgeous. Shepard could see all of the Nos Astra skyline, stretched out before her in a panorama that almost made her dizzy. Off to the side, Shepard noticed a dark red couch that looked luxurious, but also well used at the same time. In the center of the room sat an old-fashioned wood desk, dark grained and carved with meticulous detail. The human's eyes widened. She hadn't seen a piece of wood furniture in years. Her gaze traveled upwards, and finally fell on the person standing on the other side of the desk.

Liara had her back to her, omnitool glowing brightly, obviously in the middle of a call. Her dress was of a traditional asari style, covering her from neck to feet, but the garment was exquisitely constructed, and seemed to worship every curve of her body. The effect was heightened as she moved, swaying slightly and gesturing with a hand while she spoke. The fabric stretched against her shoulders and hips, hinting deliciously at the toned flesh underneath. Shepard's mouth went dry and she lost the ability to speak. Thankfully, Liara turned, abruptly ending her call.

"Evan." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and it was the most perfect thing Shepard had ever heard.

Shepard wasn't sure who moved first, but the next thing she was aware of was Liara's mouth on hers. She wrapped her arms around the asari's waist and greedily pulled her in tighter. They fit together perfectly, like they always had, and for a moment everything was as it should be. All the color came back into the world. The pounding in her head was finally quieted. The anxiety and restlessness that had plagued her for months melted away. She inhaled deeply, drinking in everything she could of Liara - the softness of her lips, her scent, her taste. Memories came crashing in at a dizzying speed, and suddenly, Shepard was _on the Normandy, unabashedly stealing a kiss in a too-slow elevator..._

_...in a quiet apartment on the Citadel, dozing lazily in the late afternoon sun with a soft body curled next to her..._

_ ...on a small cot in the science lab, trembling nervously as she watched ocean blue eyes swirl into obsidian... _

And then, just like that, the moment was gone.

Shepard stood dumbly in the middle of the spacious room, trying to regain her senses as her fingers clutched at nothing but air. Liara had pulled out of her grasp and slid behind her desk, hands folded primly in front of her. She nodded to the empty seat before her.

"My sources told me you were alive, Shepard." Her voice was light, but strained.

The use of her surname wasn't lost on the commander. She staggered slightly as she moved to sit down, struggling to maintain her composure. The change in Liara demeanor was so violent and sudden it almost made her nauseous. The playful glitter that had always been in the asari's brilliant blue eyes was gone, and now they looked like ice. She still held her chin high, with the same regal and elegant bearing that Shepard remembered, except this time she wore her features like armor.

"Sources?' Shepard almost choked on the word. "You knew I was alive? And since when do you have sources?" The knowledge that Liara hadn't even made an attempt to contact her stung more deeply than Shepard had prepared herself for.

"Yes, I am sorry I did not try to reach you." Liara's fingers twitched slightly, but she didn't move. "I am an information broker now, and I have several projects that are requiring my full attention."

"I see." Shepard's hands clenched the arms of her chair, and she fought back the surge of biotic energy that threatened to ripple through her. She made a show of looking around the large office. "Looks like you've been busy. I can understand how a simple call would take up time." The reply was curt, needlessly so, but had the desired effect of cutting through Liara's facade. Her eyes flashed, and she briefly glanced away. When she looked back, Shepard was finally seeing the demure, quiet scientist that had first stepped on the Normandy years ago.

"That...that is not what I meant." She bit her bottom lip, then let out a shaky breath. "It is good to see you, Shepard...I just..."

"Come with me." Shepard blurted the words out before she realized what she was saying.

"What?"

"Come with me," she repeated earnestly, leaning forward in her chair, not caring anymore about the lack of contact. "I'm taking on the Collectors, Li. They're working for the Reapers, and I'm going to find out why. I miss you on my crew. I..I need you." Her chest tightened uncomfortably at the admission. She had never needed anyone before, a fact that she had often prided herself upon. Needing someone, actually _allowing_ herself to be vulnerable, to be beholden to another person, was far too dangerous a proposition. But her separation from Liara had proven the absolute truth of those words, something she hadn't fully realized that until now.

She held Liara's gaze for a long moment, looking into the ocean blue pools that had captivated her since the moment they met on Therum. At first, Shepard thought she had been successful, and that the asari would actually rejoin the Normandy. But then Liara lowered her head, blinked once, very slowly, and when she raised her chin, Shepard was again staring into ice.

"No."

The asari remained so still in her seat it looked like she was afraid to move, and although she kept her hands folded in front of her, they pressed down firmly, like she was clinging to her desk. Shepard could see what was happening. A wall was being built right before her eyes, brick by excruciating brick, and all she could do was watch. Shepard was uncertain what to expect when she saw Liara again, but she knew that the only way she could accept losing her is if she could hold the asari or be held by her. If they could somehow nurse each other out of this. Not with a wall.

The asari continued talking, mindless of Shepard's agony, explaining how important her work was, how she couldn't afford to leave, how so much time had passed. Shepard bristled visibly at the last remark. She didn't need to be reminded. She rubbed tiredly at her face, then sat back in her chair, putting as much distance between them as possible. A ripple of anger began running through her.

Liara wasn't the only one who could build a wall.

Silence fell awkwardly between the two, and although Shepard didn't feel compelled to fill it, she spoke anyway, numbly remembering to ask about the two dossiers. Liara rattled off the information mechanically, and Shepard dutifully took notes. She found herself asking for more details about Liara's work, but barely listened to her reply. She heard something about the Shadow Broker, and an agent called the Observer. Liara raised a single hand, and slid a data pad across the desk. The human looked down, then stood and picked it off the shiny surface in one smooth motion. She turned to leave. The large room suddenly felt cramped and stifling.

"I'll see you around, Liara."

Her squadmates were waiting in the reception area; Mordin pacing incessantly and muttering to himself, while Garrus was seated and idly flipping through his omnitool display. Both looked up when Shepard entered, and she deliberately avoided the turian's expectant gaze. She handed the pad to Mordin.

"Mordin, please take a look at these terminals and report to Doctor T'Soni. She requires our assistance in gaining some intel."

The salarian's eyes blinked rapidly, and he actually fell silent for a moment. "Of course, commander. Right away." He darted away without another word.

Shepard heard Garrus's mandibles click twice in rapid succession, and she knew that meant he was agitated. She cut him off before he even had a chance to speak.

"I need some air." It was the only response she gave to his questioning look.

Shepard bounded down the stairs, burst through the door and into the bright light of the trading floor. She walked past the kiosks, with their shouting vendors and haggling customers, through the din of the trading area, where brokers were yelling about shorting and selling and buying. She began to feel nauseous from the choking heat. She increased her pace, nearly moving in a jog, until she found a secluded bench overlooking the skyline. Shepard sat down heavily, and with trembling hands pulled out a mashed pack of cigarettes.

She was an idiot. She should have seen this coming. What right did Shepard have to expect any different reaction from Liara? Of course she would have moved on with her life. Of course there would be more important things for her to do. The universe just didn't stop for the two years Shepard was stretched out on a slab. Everything is different. She would just have to accept that. She winced as she performed a particularly brutal calculation in her head.

Shepard had been dead nearly twice as long as they had been together.

Nothing that good could ever last.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, idly watching the tendril of smoke rising from the cigarette dangling in her fingertips. This time, no one seemed to care that she was blatantly violating the rules. She was far enough way that the clamoring from the trading floor was barely audible. Several security mechs hurried by, oblivious to the human. The denizens of Nos Astra carried on their business as usual. Time marched on.

Her headache was back. Her skin burned. All she wanted was to go home, although she didn't know where that was anymore.

Shepard glanced up as Garrus quietly sat down next to her. He mimicked Shepard's pose; leaning forward and resting his elbows on the tops of his knees. However, instead of holding a cigarette, a plastic bag dangled from his talons. Shepard's brow furrowed as she watched three brightly colored fish dart back and forth.

"You bought me fish?"

"No." Garrus snorted dismissively. "These are _my_ fish. I'm just going to borrow your fishtank."

Shepard scowled. "Since when did you become a fucking zookeeper?"

"Since that nice asari maiden gave me a discount at her kiosk." Garrus grinned. "You know I can't resist a good deal."

The human just shook her head and took another drag from her smoke, staring unblinkingly at her boots. She felt Garrus shift in his seat next to her, and when he spoke again, his tone was sympathetic. "It didn't go well, huh?"

"No," Shepard replied flatly, without looking up. And aching, empty feeling crawled up her chest and she clamped her emotions back down.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

Garrus didn't respond, and they sat in silence. Shepard rolled the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger, watching as the wrapper burned slowly and the length of ash steadily grew. The ash nearly doubled in size before Garrus nudged her.

"Mordin's back." Shepard raised her head, and saw the salarian hurrying towards them. She grunted in response and activated her omnitool.

"So what do you want to do, Shepard?" Garrus asked.

"What do you think?" Shepard stood and unceremoniously tossed her smoke over the nearby railing. "Get Thane. Get Samara. And get the fuck off this planet."

* * *

Miranda tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator began its excruciating descent, wishing that she had also been involved in the reconstruction of the Normandy, as well as its commander. It never ceased to amaze her how Cerberus had apparently been dedicated to recreating all aspects of the frigate, even its remarkably slow elevator. She again toyed with the idea of having one of the engineers tearing the damn thing apart and rebuilding it from scratch.

She began flipping through the reports filling up her omnitool. Her briefing with Jacob had gone smoothly, and the armory was more than well stocked. In fact, the entire ship and crew were coming along quite nicely despite their differences; a miracle in and of itself considering that the newest additions to the crew were a tank-bred krogan and a deranged convict. The Normandy was practically in mint condition, and with only a few upgrades to her systems, Miranda was sure the vessel could handle the trip through the Omega 4 relay.

Shepard herself had also turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Despite the commander's initial resistance, she had thrown herself into the single-minded pursuit of the Collectors and had been accepting of the XO's input with only a minimal amount of grousing. Miranda was too savvy to assume that Shepard's recent docility was indicative of a newfound attitude towards Cerberus, and most likely it was just a byproduct of Shepard's famous stubbornness and determination, a character trait that was particularly useful when given an objective to focus upon. And although she remained wary, Miranda was pleased that it also meant that the Normandy was ahead of schedule, and the crew's confidence at attempting a so-called "suicide mission" was growing daily.

However, Miranda was now concerned that her perfectly-running op would be derailed as a result of the stop at Illium. She knew that Thane Krios and Justicar Samara would be formidable assets to the team, but she also knew that Shepard would undoubtedly now have the one piece of information Miranda had managed to successfully keep from her.

In all honesty, the Illusive Man had been the one to recognize the importance of T'Soni and Shepard's relationship. Miranda had dismissed it from the outset, considering the rumors swirling about the two nothing more than tabloid fodder. Even after she met T'Soni and recruited her to assist in recovering Shepard's remains, she had assumed the young maiden's devotion was just a rather serious case of hero worship, and doubted that Shepard had reciprocated her feelings to the same degree. But when the commander had awoken and asked specifically about T'Soni, and was noticeably agitated by her absence, Miranda had to acknowledge that the Illusive Man's instincts were correct. Despite that earlier disagreement, though, they had both agreed on how to handle the situation - that Shepard should be kept from T'Soni, as the relationship had the potential to become too much of a distraction, something that was actually made easier by the asari's new career and apparent reticence at even seeing Shepard again.

What continued to irritate Miranda, however, was the fact that she never saw it coming. Her files on Shepard were utterly exhaustive, and she had read through nearly every single report or article generated on the commander, including detailed psychological analyses. Everything she had studied indicated that Shepard was the stereotypical definition of a "loner" with a near-pathological aversion to forming close relationships. There had been a few dalliances, certainly; a fellow recruit from basic and several civilians that she had met only by happenstance, but the engagements all appeared brief and unremarkable. Miranda wondered, and not for the first time, how the young asari had managed to get under Shepard's seemingly impenetrable skin.

The lift finally reached its destination, and the doors slid open to reveal the half-empty mess area. Several crewman milled about, idly finishing their meals before reporting to their various duty shifts and trading barbs with Mess Sergeant Gardner. Miranda ignored their banter as she quickly headed for her office, frowning as she experienced a small burst of anxiety. It was miniscule, really, but present nonetheless. Shepard had left the ship hours ago, and only had sent two messages: the first requesting her armor and rifle, and the second reporting that she had successfully recruited the Justicar. There had been no mention of Liara T'Soni. Shepard would be due back at any moment. Miranda needed a few moments to prepare for the proverbial shoe to drop.

It took two steps into her office before she realized she wasn't alone. She was at a loss to explain how Shepard had managed to board the Normandy and slip into the room without her knowing, but it was quickly apparent that the method of the commander's arrival was the least of her concerns. Shepard was sitting in one of her plush chairs, facing the door, still dressed in her full armor. She was gripping a tumbler of whiskey. The lighting remained dim, and although her expression was utterly blank, the scarring on her face and the ocular implants all glowed hellishly. Miranda hadn't noticed how Shepard's scarring had worsened. She made a mental note to speak with Chakwas about improving the commander's appearance.

"You knew." Shepard's voice was flat and devoid of all emotion, matching the unsettling stone mask of her features. Miranda strode over to her desk and deliberately set down several of the data pads she had been carrying, ensuring they were perfectly aligned before replying.

"Yes." There was no advantage to lying at this point.

Shepard remained seated. Miranda heard the slight creak of the commander's glove as her grip tightened on the glass. "Why?"

Miranda drew herself up to her full height, turning to face Shepard and clasping her hands behind her back. She arched a brow. "It was determined that your relationship with Doctor T'Soni could be problematic - "

"'Problematic'?" Shepard was in motion now, shooting off the chair with a speed that Miranda hadn't anticipated. They stood face to face, and the operative could see the visible spasm of Shepard's jaw. "That wasn't your decision to make. It's _nobody's_ decision to make."

Despite the tension of the situation, Miranda couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate her work. Shepard was damn near a perfect physical specimen, all taunt, chorded muscle, with a grace and fluidity in her movements that was unmistakable. Wearing her armor, it seemed like the commander towered over her, even though it was Miranda who was slightly taller. The only flaws were the scarring and those eyes, now burning with such a molten intensity Miranda was certain Shepard would incinerate her if she could. Still, she remained cool and detached.

"Perhaps. But - "

She stopped when she saw another flash of movement, followed quickly by the sound of glass shattering. Miranda glanced over to her desk and saw the dark stain on the wall, and the remains of the tumbler scattered on the floor. She looked back at Shepard in time to see a ripple of biotic energy shoot down her arm before dissipating. The commander took another step closer, close enough so that Miranda could feel the heat radiating off her body and smell the sweet hint of whiskey on her breath.

"Keep out of my business, or I will fucking show you _problematic_." Shepard's voice was a growl, but she wore that same blank, dead expression on her face. "I am only going to tell you once."

She turned to leave, moving silently towards the door even in her armor. Miranda let out a soft breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Just before she was about to exit, she stopped abruptly. Shepard put her hands on her hips, but didn't turn around.

"Did it ever occur to you, Operative Lawson, that some things should just stay dead?"

The commander didn't wait for a response and quickly disappeared into the mess hall. Miranda watched the door for a moment, half-expecting Shepard to burst back in, but nothing happened. She sighed, then headed into her private bath to retrieve a small towel to mop up the spill. She ignored the faint tremor in her hand.


End file.
